aer 


THE  WORKS 


OF 


WASHINGTON  IBYIIG. 


NEW  EDITION,  REVISED. 


VOL.  IX. 
CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


NEW- YORK : 
GEORGE    P.    PUTNAM. 

1849. 


T  H  E 


CRAYON  MISCELLANY, 


BY 

WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


AUTHOR'S    REVISED    EDITION. 


COMPLETE    TN  -HNF    VOLUME. 


NEW-YORK : 
GEORGE    P.    PUTNAM,    155    BROADWAY, 

And    142    Strand,    London. 

1849. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1849,  by 
WASHINGTON  IRVING, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District 
of  New- York. 


JOHN    F.  TROW, 

Printer    and    Stercotyper, 

49   Ann-street,    N.  Y. 


CONTENTS. 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 


Page. 
The  Pawnee  Hunting  Grounds.  —  Travelling  Companions.  —  A  Commis 

sioner.  —  A  Virtuoso.  —  A  Seeker  of  Adventures.  —  A  Gil  Bias  of  the 
Frontier.  —  A  Young  Man's  Anticipations  of  Pleasure,     .         .         .       17 


CHAPTER  IT. 

Anticipations  Disappointed. — New  Plans. — Preparations  to  join  an  Ex. 
ploring  Party. — Departure  from  Fort  Gibson. — Fording  of  the  Verdi 
gris. — An  Indian.  Cavalier,  .  .  .  •  ,  -.'',.  .  .  22 


«,--  ci 


HAPTER  III. 

An  Indian  Agency. — Riflemen. — Osages,  Creeks,  Trappers,  Dogs,  Horses, 

Half-Breeds. — Beatte,  the  Huntsman,      .         .         .         .         .         .       26 


CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Departure,   .         .        .        v      ;.        .'      .        .      '  '.    "\       •      30 


viii  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Frontier  Scenes. — A  Lycurgus  of   the   Border. — Lynch's   Law. — The 

Danger  of  Finding  a  Horse. — The  Young  Osage,     ....       32 


HAPTER  VI. 

Trail  of  the  Osage  Hunters. — Departure  of  the  Count  and  his  Party. A 

Deserted  War  Camp.— A  Vagrant  Dog.— The  Encampment,  .         .       37 


CHAPTER  VII. 

News  of  the  Rangers. — The  Count  and  his  Indian  Squire. — Halt  in  the 
Woods. — Woodland  Scene. — Osage  Village. — Osage  Visitors  at  our 
Evening  Camp, 49 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
The  Honey  Camp,       ....         .         ...  47 


VCH^ 


'HAPTER  IX. 
A  Bee  Hunt,        ...........       49 

IXCHAPTER  X. 

Amusements  in  the  Camp.  —  Consultations.  —  Hunters'  Fare  and  Feast 
ing.  —  Evening  Scenes.  —  Camp  Melody.  —  The  Fate  of  an  Amateur 
Owl,  ...........  54 


I    ^ 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Breaking  up  of  the  Encampment.—  Picturesque  March.—  Game.  —  Camp 
Scenes.  —  Triumph  of  a  Young  Hunter.  —  111  Success  of  Old  Hunters. 
—  Foul  Murder  of  a  Polecat,  .  .  59 


CONTENTS. 


n- 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Crossing  of  the  Arkansas,     .         .         .         .         .         .         .        .66 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  CAMP  OF  THE  GLEN. — Camp  Gossip. — Pawnees  and  their  Habits. 

— A  Hunter's  Adventure. — Horses  Found,  and  Men  Lost,         .         .       69 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Deer-Shooting. — Life  on  the  Prairies. — Beautiful  Encampment. — Hunt 
er's  Luck. — Anecdotes  of  the  Delawares  and  their  Superstitions,  .  77 

CHAPTER  XV. 
The  Search  for  the  Elk. — Pawnee  Stories,  .        -./      . .        '••:..„..      83 

V     CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  Sick  Camp.— The  March.— The  Disabled  Horse.— Old  Ryan  and  the 
Stragglers. —  Symptoms  of  Change  of  Weather,  and  Change  of  Hu 
mors,  .  i  .  .  ?'>.*••.  *.  . 'jV^'-.i/ ••  ^..  .89 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Thunder- Storm    on   the   Prairies. — The    Storm   Encampment. — Night 

Scene. — Indian  Stories. — A  Frightened  Horse,         ....       95 


U^CHA 


HAPTER  XVIII. 

A    Grand  Prairie.— Cliff  Castle.— Buffalo    Tracks.— Deer  Hunted   by 

Wolves.— Cross  Timber,         .         .        /'     ';  '      .         .         .         .     100 

V^CHAPTER  XIX. 
Hunters'  Anticipations. — The  Rugged  Ford. — A  Wild  Horse,        .         .     104 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  CAMP  OF  THE  WILD  HORSE. — Hunters'  Stories. — Habits  of  the  Wild 
Horse.— The  Half-Breed  and  his  Prize.— A  Horse  Chase.— A  Wild 
Spirit  Tamed,  .  .'  .  .  '  *.  .  ..  ."  .  '  .  .  108 

CHAPTER  XXL 

The  Fording  of  the   Red  Fork.— The   Dreary  Forests  of  the   "  Cross 

Timber."— Buffalo,         .        .        .        .         .        ,,..'.         .     115 

\y  CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  Alarm  Camp,       .     '.     .    .         .        .  .  "v  .  .       .        .        .        .     H9 


^CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Beaver  Dam. — Buffalo  and   Horse  Tracks. — A  Pawnee  Trail. — Wild 

Horses. — The  Young  Hunter  and  the  Bear. — Change  of  Route,       .     127 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Scarcity  of  Bread. — Rencontre  with  Buffaloes. — Wild  Turkeys. — Fall  of 
a  Buffalo  Bull,        .      J.        .  - .131 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
Ringing  the  Wild  Horse,     .         .        ......         .         .         .  135 


V        CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Fording  of  the  North  Fork. — Dreary  Scenery  of  the  Cross  Timber. — 
Scamper  of  Horses  in  the  Night. — Osage  War  Party. — Effects  of  a 
Peace  Harangue. — Buffalo. — Wild  Horse, 140 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
Foul  Weather  Encampment.—  Anecdotes  of  Bear  Hunting.—  Indian  No 

tions  about  Omens.—  Scruples  Respecting  the  Dead,  ...     144 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A  Secret  Expedition.  —  Dear  Bleating.  —  Magic  Balls,     .  .         .         .153 

V      CHAPTER   XXIX. 

The  Grand  Prairie.  —  A  Buffalo  Hunt,         ..         .    ...  .         •         •     158 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A  Comrade   Lost.—  A  Search  for  the  Camp.—  The  Commissioner,  the 

Wild  Horse,  and  the  Buffalo.—  A  Wolf  Serenade,  .        y       ..„;.      .     169 

X    CHAPTER  XXXI. 
A  Hunt  for  a  Lost  Comrade,        .         .         ...         •         •         •     170 

^    CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  Republic  of  Prairie  Dogs,         ...-...-  ^    .        .         •         •     175 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

A  Council  in  the  Camp.  —  Reasons  for  Facing  Homewards.  —  Horses  Lost. 
—  Departure  with  a  Detachment  on  the  Homeward  Route.  —  Swamp. 
—Wild  Horse.—  Camp  Scene  by  Night.—  The  Owl,  Harbinger  of 
Dawn,  .  ...  .  .  .  •  '  •  '•  •  •  179 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Old   Creek  Encampment.  —  Scarcity  of   Provisions.  —  Bad   Weather.  — 

Weary  Marching.  —  A  Hunter's  Bridge,  .         .        •         •         •     187 


xii  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

A  Look-out  for  Land. — Hard  Travelling  and  Hungry  Halting. — A  Fron 
tier  Farmhouse. — Arrival  at  the  Garrison,       .         .         .  192 


ABBOTSFORD. 

ABBOTSFORD,      .    '    .   :     .    jjJSXX   •  '  •     •        •        •        ...     201 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

HISTORICAL  NOTICE, -,.i  •'  '••*>.   «•      •        •  273 

ARRIVAL  AT  THE  ABBEY,         .         .         .        .        .        *        .   ,    \  283 

THE  ABBEY  GARDEN, .        .  290 

PLOUGH  MONDAY,     .         .        .        .        .        .        .        •, ""     .        .  297 

OLD  SERVANTS,  .        *        "v        • .       •'       .        .    "    .   '     .        .  301 

SUPERSTITIONS  OF  THE  ABBEY,       ..        ..,.        ..        .        *  306 

ANNESLET?*  HALL,        . -^        .    -    «        .  315 

THE  LAKE, 338 

ROBIN  HOOD  AND  SHERWOOD  FOREST,          >        .        .      •  •        .        .  342 

THE  ROOK  CELL,     .        .     .}V*"~H        .         .  ...  351 

THE  LITTLE  WOTTE  LADY,  .  357 


INTRODUCTION. 


HAVING,  since  my  return  to  the  United  States,  made  a  wide  and 
varied  tour,  for  the  gratification  of  my  curiosity,  it  has  been  sup 
posed  that  I  did  it  for  the  purpose  of  writing  a  book ;  and  it  has 
more  than  once  been  intimated  in  the  papers,  that  such  a  work 
was  actually  in  the  press,  containing  scenes  and  sketches  of  the 
Far  West. 

These  announcements,  gratuitously  made  for  me,  before  I 
had  put  pen  to  paper,  or  even  contemplated  any  thing  of  the 
kind,  have  embarrassed  me  exceedingly.  I  have  been  like  a  poor 
actor,  who  finds  himself  announced  for  a  part  he  had  no  thought 
of  playing,  and  his  appearance  expected  on  the  stage  before  he 
has  committed  a  line  to  memory. 

I  have  always  had  a  repugnance,  amounting  almost  to  disa 
bility,  to  write  in  the  face  of  expectation ;  and,  in  the  present 
instance,  I  was  expected  to  write  about  a  region  fruitful  of  won 
ders  and  adventures,  and  which  had  already  been  made  the  theme 
of  spirit-stirring  narratives  from  able  pens ;  yet  about  which  I 
had  nothing  wonderful  or  adventurous  to  offer. 


xiv  INTRODUCTION. 


Since  such,  however,  seems  to  be  the  desire  of  the  public,  and 
that  they  take  sufficient  interest  in  my  wanderings  to  deem  them 
worthy  of  recital,  I  have  hastened,  as  promptly  as  possible,  to 
meet  in  some  degree,  the  expectation  which  others  have  excited. 
For  this  purpose,  I  have,  as  it  were,  plucked  a  few  leaves  out  of 
my  memorandum  book,  containing  a  month's  foray  beyond  the 
outposts  of  human  habitation,  into  the  wilderness  of  the  Far 
West.  It  forms,  indeed,  but  a  small  portion  of  an  extensive 
tour ;  but  it  is  an  episode,  complete  as  far  as  it  goes.  As  such, 
I  offer  it  to  the  public,  with  great  diffidence.  It  is  a  simple 
narrative  of  every  day  occurrences ;  such  as  happen  to  every  one 
who  travels  the  prairies.  I  have  no  wonders  to  describe,  nor  any 
moving  accidents  by  flood  or  field  to  narrate  ;  and  as  to  those  who 
look  for  a  marvellous  or  adventurous  story  at  my  hands.  I  can 
only  reply  in  the  words  of  the  weary  knife-grinder :  "  Story ! 
God  bless  you,  I  have  none  to  tell,  sir." 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE     PAWNEE     HUNTING     GROUNDS. TRAVELLING     COMPANIONS. A 

COMMISSIONER. A  VIRTUOSO. A  SEEKER  OF  ADVENTURES. A  GIL 

BLAS  OF  THE  FRONTIER. A  YOUNG  MAN'S  ANTICIPATIONS  OF  PLEA 
SURE. 

IN  the  often  vaunted  regions  of  the  Far  West,  several  hundred 
miles  beyond  the  Mississippi,  extends  a  vast  tract  of  uninhabited 
country,  where  there  is  neither  to  be  seen  the  log  house  of  the 
white  man,  nor  the  wigwam  of  the  Indian.  It  consists  of  great 
grassy  plains,  interspersed  with  forests  and  groves,  and  clumps 
of  trees,  and  watered  by  the  Arkansas,  the  grand  Canadian,  the 
Red  River,  and  their  tributary  streams.  Over  these  fertile  and 
verdant  wastes  still  roam  the  elk,  the  buffalo,  and  the  wild 
horse,  in  all  their  native  freedom.  These,  in  fact,  are  the  hunt 
ing  grounds  of  the  various  tribes  of  the  Far  West.  Hither 
repair  the  Osage,  the  Creek,  the  Delaware  and  other  tribes  that 
have  linked  themselves  with  civilization,  and  live  within  the  vici 
nity  of  the  white  settlements.  Here  resort  also,  the  Pawnees, 
the  Coinanches,  and  other  fierce,  and  as  yet  independent  tribes, 
the  nomades  of  the  prairies,  or  the  inhabitants  of  the  skirts  of 


18  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


the  Rocky  Mountains.  The  regions  I  have  mentioned  form  a 
debatable  ground  of  these  warring  and  vindictive  tribes  ;  none 
of  them  presume  to  erect  a  permanent  habitation  within  its  bor 
ders.  Their  hunters  and  "  Braves  "  repair  thither  in  numerous 
bodies  during  the  season  of  game,  throw  up  their  transient  hunt 
ing  camps,  consisting  of  light  bowers  covered  with  bark  and 
skins,  commit  sad  havoc  among  the  innumerable  herds  that  graze 
the  prairies,  and  having  loaded  themselves  with  venison  and 
buffalo  meat,  warily  retire  from  the  dangerous  neighborhood. 
These  expeditions  partake,  always,  of  a  warlike  character ;  the 
hunters  are  all  armed  for  action,  offensive  and  defensive,  and  are 
bound  to  incessant  vigilance.  Should  they,  in  their  excursions, 
meet  the  hunters  of  an  adverse  tribe,  savage  conflicts  take  place. 
Their  encampments,  too,  are  always  subject  to  be  surprised  by 
wandering  war  parties,  and  their  hunters,  when  scattered  in  pur 
suit  of  game,  to  be  captured  or  massacred  by  lurking  foes. 
Mouldering  skulls  and  skeletons,  bleaching  in  some  dark  ravine, 
or  near  the  traces  of  a  hunting  camp,  occasionally  mark  the 
scene  of  a  foregone  act  of  blood,  and  let  the  wanderer  know 
the  dangerous  nature  of  the  region  he  is  traversing.  It  is 
the  purport  of  the  following  pages  to  narrate  a  month's  excur 
sion  to  these  noted  hunting  grounds,  through  a  tract  of  coun 
try  which  had  not  as  yet  been  explored  by  white  men. 

It  was  early  in  October,  1832,  that  I  arrived  at  Fort  Gibson, 
a  frontier  post  of  the  Far  West,  situated  on  the  Neosho,  or  Grand 
River,  near  its  confluence  with  the  Arkansas.  I  had  been  tra 
velling  for  a  month  past,  with  a  small  party  from  St.  Louis,  up 
the  banks  of  the  Missouri,  and  along  the  frontier  line  of  agencies 
and  missions,  that  extends  from  the  Missouri  to  the  Arkansas. 
Our  party  was  headed  by  one  of  the  Commissioners  appointed  by 


A   TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  19 


the  government  of  the  United  States  to  superintend  the  settle 
ment  of  the  Indian  tribes  migrating  from  the  east  to  the  west 
of  the  Mississippi.  In  the  discharge  of  his  duties,  he  was  thus 
visiting  the  various  outposts  of  civilization. 

And  here  let  me  bear  testimony  to  the  merits  of  this  worthy 
leader  of  our  little  band.     He  was  a  native  of  one  of  the  towns 


of  Connecticut,  a  man  in  whom  a  course  of  legal  practice  and 
political  life  had  not  been  able  to  vitiate  an  innate  simplicity  and 
benevolence  of  heart.  The  greater  part  of  his  days  tad  been 
passed  in  the  bosom  of  his  family  and  the  society  of  deacons, 
elders,  and  selectmen,  on  the  peaceful  banks  of  the  Connecticut ; 
when  suddenly  he  had  been  called  to  mount  his  steed,  shoulder 
his  rifle,  and  mingle  among  stark  hunters,  backwoodsmen,  and 
naked  savages,  on  the  trackless  wilds  of  the  Far  West. 

Another  of  my  fellow-travellers  was  Mr.  L.,  an  Englishman 
by  birth,  but  descended  from  a  foreign  stock  ;  and  who  had  all 
the  buoyancy  and  accommodating  spirit  of  a  native  of  the  Con 
tinent.  Having  rambled  over  many  countries,  he  had  become, 
to  a  certain  degree,  a  citizen  of  the  world,  easily  adapting  him 
self  to  any  change.  He  was  a  man  of  a  thousand  occupations  ; 
a  botanist,  a  geologist,  a  hunter  of  beetles  and  butterflies,  a  mu 
sical  amateur,  a  sketcher  of  no  mean  pretensions,  in  short,  a 
complete  virtuoso  ;  added  to  which,  he  was  a  very  indefatigable, 
if  not  always  a  very  successful,  sportsman.  Never  had  a  man 
more  irons  in  the  fire,  and,  consequently,  never  was  man  more 
busy  nor  more  cheerful. 

My  third  fellow-traveller  was  one  who  had  accompanied  the 
former  from  Europe,  and  travelled  with  him  as  his  Telemachus ; 
Deing  apt,  like  his  prototype,  to  give  occasional  perplexity  and 
disquiet  to  his  Mentor.  He  was  a  young  Swiss  Count,  scarce 


20  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


twenty-one  years  of  age,  full  of  talent  and  spirit,  but  galliard  in 
the  extreme,  and  prone  to  every  kind  of  wild  adventure. 

Having  made  this  mention  of  my  comrades,  I  must  not  pass 
over  unnoticed,  a  personage  of  inferior  rank,  but  of  all-pervading 
and  prevalent  importance  :  the  squire,  the  groom,  the  cook,  the 
tent  man,  in  a  word,  the  factotum,  and,  I  may  add,  the  universal^ 
meddler  and  marplot  of  our  party.  This  was  a  little  swarthy, 
meagre,  French_creolc,  named  Antoine.  but  familiarly  dubbed 
Tonish  :  a  kind  of  Gil  Bias  of  the  frontiers,  who  had  passed  a 
scrambling  life,  sometimes  among  white  men,  sometimes  among 
Indians  ;  sometimes  in  the  employ  of  traders,  missionaries,  and 
Indian  agents  ;  sometimes  mingling  with  the  Osage  hunters. 
We  picked  him  up  at  St.  Louis,  near  which  he  has  a  small  farm, 
an  Indian  wife,  and  a  brood  of  half-blood  children.  According 
to  his  own  account,  however,  he  had  a  wife  in  every  tribe  ;  in 
fact,  if  all  this  little  vagabond  said  of  himself  were  to  be  believed, 
he  was  without  morals,  without  caste,  without  creed,  without  coun 
try,  and  even  without  language  ;  for  he  spoke  a  jargon  of  min 
gled  French,  English,  and  Osage.  He  was,  withal,  a  notorious 
braggart,  and  a  liar  of  the  first  water.  It  was  amusing  to  hear 
him  vapor  and  gasconade  about  his  terrible  exploits  and  hair 
breadth  escapes  in  war  and  hunting.  In  the  midst  of  his  volu 
bility,  he  was  prone  to  be  seized  by  a  spasmodic  gasping,  as  if  the 
springs  of  his  jaws  were  suddenly  unhinged  ;  but  I  am  apt  to 
think  it  was  caused  by  some  falsehood  that  stuck  in  his  throat, 
for  I  generally  remarked,  that  immediately  afterwards  there 
bolted  forth  a  lie  of  the  first  magnitude. 

Our  route  had  been  a  pleasant  one,  quartering  ourselves,  oc 
casionally,  at  the  widely  separated  establishments  of  the  Indian 
missionaries,  but  in  general  camping  out  in  the  fine  groves  that 


A   TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  21 


border  the  streams,  and  sleeping  under  cover  of  a  tent.  During 
the  latter  part  of  our  tour  we  had  pressed  forward  in  hopes  of 
arriving  in  time  at  Fort  Gribson,  to  accompany  th'e  Osage  hunters 
on  their  autumnal  visit  to  the  buffalo  prairies.  Indeed  the  ima 
gination  of  the  young  Count  had  become  completely  excited  on 
the  subject.  The  grand  scenery  and  wild  habits  of  the  prairies 
had  set  his  spirits  madding,  and  the  stories  that  little  Tonish 
told  him  of  Indian  braves  and  Indian  beauties,  of  hunting  buffa 
loes  and  catching  wild  horses,  had  set  him  all  agog  for  a  dash 
into  savage  life.  He  was  a  bold  and  hard  rider,  and  longed  to 
be  scouring  the  hunting  grounds.  It  was  amusing  to  hear  his 
youthful  anticipations  of  all  that  he  was  to  see,  and  do,  and  en 
joy,  when  mingling  among  the  Indians  and  participating  in  their 
hardy  adventures  ;  and  it  was  still  more  amusing  to  listen  to  the 
gasconadings  of  little  Tonish,  who  volunteered  to  be  his  faithful 
squire  in  all  his  perilous  undertakings  ;  to  teach  him  how  to  catch 
the  wild  horse,  bring  down  the  buffalo,  and  win  the  smiles  of 
Indian  princesses  ; — "  And  if  we  can  only  get  sight  of  a  prairie 
on  fire  !"  said  the  young  Count — "  By  Gar,  I'll  set  one  on  fire 
myself !"  cried  the  little  Frenchman. 


22  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


CHAPTER  II. 

ANTICIPATIONS  DISAPPOINTED. NEW  PLANS. PREPARATIONS  TO  JOIN 

AN   EXPLORING  PARTY. DEPARTURE  FROM   FORT  GIBSON. FORD 
ING    OF    THE    VERDIGE1S.- — AN    INDIAN    CAVALIER. 

THE  anticipations  of  a  young  man  are  prone  to  meet  with  disap 
pointment.  Unfortunately  for  the  Count's  scheme  of  wild  cam 
paigning,  before  we  reached  the  end  of  our  journey,  we  heard 
that  the  Osage  hunters  had  set  forth  upon  their  expedition  to  the 
buffalo  grounds.  The  Count  still  determined,  if  possible,  to  fol 
low  on  their  track  and  overtake  them,  and  for  this  purpose  stop 
ped  short  at  the  Osage  Agency,  a  few  miles  distant  from  Fort 
Gibson,  to  make  inquiries  and  preparations.  His  travelling  com 
panion,  Mr.  L.,  stopped  with  him ;  while  the  Commissioner  and 
myself  proceeded  to  Fort  Gibson,  followed  by  the  faithful  and 
veracious  Tonish.  I  hinted  to  him  his  promises  to  follow  the 
Count  in  his  campaignings,  but  I  found  the  little  varlet  had  a 
keen  eye  to  self-interest.  He  was  aware  that  the  Commissioner, 
from  his  official  duties,  would  remain  for  a  long  time  in  the  coun 
try,  and  be  likely  to  give  him  permanent  employment,  while  the 
sojourn  of  the  Count  would  be  but  transient.  •  The  gasconading 
of  the  little  braggart  was  suddenly  therefore  at  an  end.  He 
spoke  not  another  word  to  the  young  Count  about  Indians,  buffa 
loes,  and  wild  horses,  but  putting  himself  tacitly  in  the  train  of 
the  Commissioner,  jogged  silently  after  us  to  the  garrison. 

On  arriving  at  the  fort,  however,  a  new  chance  presented  it 
self  for  a  cruise  on  the  prairies.  We  learnt  that  a  company  of 
mounted  rangers,  or  riflemen,  had  departed  but  three  days  pre- 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  23 

vious,  to  make  a  wide  exploring  tour,  from  the  Arkansas  to  the 
Red  River,  including  a  part  of  the  Pawnee  hunting  grounds, 
where  no  party  of  white  men  had  as  yet  penetrated.  Here,  then, 
was  an  opportunity  of  ranging  over  those  dangerous  and  inter 
esting  regions  under  the  safeguard  of  a  powerful  escort ;  for  the 
Commissioner,  in  virtue  of  his  office,  could  claim  the  service  of  this 
newly-raised  corps  of  riflemen,  and  the  country  they  were  to  ex 
plore  was  destined  for  the  settlement  of  some  of  the  migrating 
tribes  connected  with  his  mission. 

Our  plan  was  promptly  formed  and  put  into  execution.  A 
couple  of  Creek  Indians  were  sent  off  express,  by  the  commander 
of  Fort  G-ibson,  to  overtake  the  rangers  and  bring  them  to  a  halt 
until  the  Commissioner  and  his  party  should  be  able  to  join  them. 
As  we  should  have  a  march  of  three  or  four  days  through  a  wild 
country,  before  we  could  overtake  the '  company  of  rangers,  an 
escort  of  fourteen  mounted  riflemen,  under  the  command  of  a 
lieutenant,  was  assigned  us. 

We  sent  word  to  the  young  Count  and  Mr.  L.  at  the  Osage 
Agency,  of  our  new  plan  and  prospects,  and  invited  them  to  ac 
company  us.  The  Count,  however,  could  not  forego  the  delights 
he  had  promised  himself  in  mingling  with  absolutely  savage  life. 
In  reply,  he  agreed  to  keep  with  us  until  we  should  come  upon 
the  trail  of  the  Osage  hunters,  when  it  was  his  fixed  resolve  to 
strike  off  into  the  wilderness  in  pursuit  of  them ;  and  his  faith 
ful  Mentor,  though  he  grieved  at  the  madness  of  the  scheme,  was 
too  stanch  a  friend  to  desert  him.  A  general  rendezvous  of  our 
party  and  escort  was  appointed,  for  the  following  morning,  at  the 
Agency. 

We  now  made  all  arrangements  for  prompt  departure.  Our 
baggage  had  hitherto  been  transported  on  a  light  wagon,  but  we  were 


24  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


now  to  break  our  way  through  an  untravelled  country,  cut  up  by 
rivers,  ravines,  and  thickets,  where  a  vehicle  of  the  kind  would 
be  a  complete  impediment.  "We  were  to  travel  on  horseback,  in 
hunters'  style,  and  with  as  little  encumbrance  as  possible.  Our 
baggage,  therefore,  underwent  a  rigid  and  most  abstemious  reduc 
tion.  A  pair  of  saddlebags,  and  those  by  no  means  crammed, 
sufficed  for  each  man's  scanty  wardrobe,  and,  with  his  great  coat, 
were  to  be  carried  upon  the  steed  he  rode.  The  rest  of  the  bag 
gage  was  placed  on  pack-horses.  Each  one  had  a  bear-skin  and 
a  couple  of  blankets  for  bedding,  and  there  was  a  tent  to  shelter 
us  in  case  of  sickness  or  bad  weather.  We  took  care  to  provide 
ourselves  with  flour,  coffee,  and  sugar,  together  with  a  small  sup 
ply  of  salt  pork  for  emergencies ;  for  our  main  subsistence  we 
were  to  depend  upon  the  chase. 

Such  of  our  horses  as  had  not  been  tired  out  in  our  recent 
journey,  were  taken  with  us  as  pack-horses,  or  supernumeraries ; 
but  as  we  were  going  on  a  long  and  rough  tour,  where  there  would 
be  occasional  hunting,  and  where,  in  case  of  meeting  with  hostile 
savages,  the  safety  of  the  rider  might  depend  upon  the  goodness 
of  his  steed,  we  took  care  to  be  well  mounted.  I  procured  a 
stout  silver-gray ;  somewhat  rough,  but  stanch  and  powerful ;  and 
retained  a  hardy  pony  which  I  had  hitherto  ridden,  and  which, 
being  somewhat  jaded,  was  suffered  to  ramble  along  with  the 
pack-horses,  to  be  mounted  only  in  case  of  emergency. 

All  these  arrangements  being  made,  we  left  Fort  Gribson,  on 
the  morning  of  the  tenth  of  October,  and  crossing  the  river  in 
the  front  of  it,  set  off  for  the  rendezvous  at  the  Agency.  A  ride 
of  a  few  miles  brought  us  to  the  ford  of  the  Verdigris,  a  wild 
rocky  scene  overhung  with  forest  trees.  We  descended  to  the 
bank  of  the  river  and  crossed  in  straggling  file,  the  horses  step- 


A  TOUR   ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  25 


ping  cautiously  from  rock  to  rock,  and  in  a  manner  feeling  about 
for  a  foothold  beneath  the  rushing  and  brawling  stream. 

Our  little  Frenchman,  Tonish,  brought  up  the  rear  with  the 
pack-horses.  He  was  in  high  glee,  having  experienced  a  kind  of 
promotion.  In  our  journey  hitherto  he  had  driven  the  wagon, 
which  he  seemed  to  consider  a  very  inferior  employ ;  now  he  was 
master  of  the  horse. 

He  sat  perched  like  a  monkey  behind  the  pack  on  one  of  the 
horses  ;  he  sang,  he  shouted,  he  yelped  like  an  Indian,  and  ever 
and  anon  blasphemed  the  loitering  pack-horses  in  his  jargon  of 
mingled  French,  English  and  Osage,  which  not  one  of  them  could 
understand. 

As  we  were  crossing  the  ford  we  saw  on  the  opposite,  shore  a 
Creek  Indian  on  horseback.  He  had  paused  to  reconnoitre  us 
from  the  brow  of  a  rock,  and  formed  a  picturesque  object,  in 
unison  with  the  wild  scenery  around  him.  He  wore  a  bright 
blue  hunting-shirt  trimmed  with  scarlet  fringe ;  a  gayly-colored 
handkerchief  was  bound  round  his  head  something  like  a  turban, 
with  one  end  hanging  down  beside  his  ear  ;  he  held  a  long  rifle  in 
his  hand,  and  looked  like  a  wild  Arab  on  the  prowl.  Our  loqua 
cious  and  ever-meddling  little  Frenchman  called  out  to  him  in 
his  Babylonish  jargon,  but  the  savage  having  satisfied  his  curiosity 
tossed  his  hand  in  the  air,  turned  the  head  of  his  steed,  and  gal 
loping  along  the  shore  soon  disappeared  among  the  trees. 


26  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


CHAPTER  III. 

AN  INDIAN  AGENCY. RIFLEMEN. OSAGES,   CREEKS,   TRAPPERS,  DOGS, 

HORSES,    HALF-BREEDS. BEATTE,   THE    HUNTSMAN. 

HAVING  crossed  the  ford,  we  soon  reached  the  Osage  Agency, 
where  Col.  Choteau  has  his  offices  and  magazines,  for  the  dispatch 
of  Indian  affairs,  and  the  distribution  of  presents  and  supplies. 
It  consisted  of  a  few  log  houses  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  and 
presented  a  motley  frontier  scene.  Here  was  our  escort  awaiting 
our  arrival ;  some  were  on  horseback,  some  on  foot,  some  seated 
on  the  trunks  of  fallen  trees,  some  shooting  at  a  mark.  They 
were  a  heterogeneous  crew  ;  some  in  frock-coats  made  of  green 
blankets ;  others  in  leathern  hunting-shirts,  but  the  most  part  in 
marvellously  ill-cut  garments,  much  the  worse  for  wear,  and  evi 
dently  put  on  for  rugged  service. 

Near  by  these  was  a  group  of  Osages :  stately  fellows  ;  stern 
and  simple  in  garb  and  aspect.  They  wore  no  ornaments  ;  their 
dress  consisted  merely  of  blankets,  leggins,  and  moccasons. 
Their  heads  were  bare ;  their  hair  was  cropped  close,  excepting 
a  bristling  ridge  on  the  top,  like  the  crest  of  a  helmet,  with  a 
long  scalp  lock  hanging  behind.  They  had  fine  Roman  counte 
nances,  and  broad  deep  chests ;  and,  as  they  generally  wore  their 
blankets  wrapped  round  their  loins,  so  as  to  leave  the  bust  and 
arms  bare,  they  looked  like  so  many  noble  bronze  figures.  The 
Osages  are  the  finest  looking  Indians  I  have  ever  seen  in  the 
"West.  They  have  not  yielded  sufficiently,  as  yet,  to  the  influence 
of  civilization  to  lay  by  their  simple  Indian  garb,  or  to  lose  the 
habits  of  the  hunter  and  the  warrior ;  and  their  poverty  prevents 
their  indulging  in  much  luxury  of  apparel. 


A  TOUR   ON   THE  PRAIRIES.  27 


In  contrast  to  these  was  a  gayly-dressecT  party  of  Creeks. 
There  is  something,  at  the  first  glance,  quite  oriental  in  the 
appearance  of  this  tribe.  They  dress  in  calico  hunting  shirts,  of 
various  brilliant  colors,  decorated  with  bright  fringes,  and  belted 
with  broad  girdles,  embroidered  with  beads :  they  have  leggins 
of  dressed  deer  skins,  or  of  green  or  scarlet  cloth,  with  embroi 
dered  knee-bands  and  tassels  :  their  moccasons  are  fancifully 
wrought  and  ornamented,  and  they  wear  gaudy  handkerchiefs 
tastefully  bound  round  their  heads. 

Beside  these,  there  was  a  sprinkling  of  trappers,  hunters, 
half-breeds,  Creoles,  negroes  of  every  hue  ;  and  all  that  other 
rabble  rout  of  nondescript  beings  that  keep  about  the  frontiers, 
between  civilized  and  savage  life,  as  those  equivocal  birds,  the 
bats,  hover  about  the  confines  of  light  and  darkness. 

The  little  hamlet  of  the  Agency  was  in  a  complete  bustle ;  the 
blacksmith's  shed,  in  particular,  was  a  scene  of  preparation  5  a 
strapping  negro  was  shoeing  a  horse ;  two  half-breeds  were  fabri 
cating  iron  spoons  in  which  to  melt  lead  for  bullets.  An  old 
trapper,  in  leathern  hunting  frock  and  moccasons,  had  placed  his 
rifle  against  a  work-bench,  while  he  superintended  the  operation, 
and  gossiped  about  his  hunting  exploits  ;  several  large  dogs 
were  lounging  in  and  out  of  the  shop,  or  sleeping  in  the  sun 
shine,  while  a  little  cur,  with  head  cocked  on  one  side,  and  one 
ear  erect,  was  watching,  with  that  curiosity  common  to  little 
dogs,  the  process  of  shoeing  the  horse,  as  if  studying  the  art,  or 
waiting  for  his  turn  to  be  shod. 

We  found  the  Count  and  his  companion,  the  Virtuoso,  ready 
for  the  march.  As  they  intended  to  overtake  the  Osages,  and 
pass  some  time  in  hunting  the  buffalo  and  the  wild  horse,  they 
had  provided  themselves  accordingly ;  having,  in  addition  to  the 


28  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 

steeds  which  they  used  for  travelling,  others  of  prime  quality, 
which  were  to  be  led  when  on  the  march,  and  only  to  be  mounted 
for  the  chase. 

They  had,  moreover,  engaged  the  services  of  a  young  man 
named  Antoine,  a  half-breed  of  French  and  Osage  origin.  He 
was  to  be  a  kind  of  Jack-of-all-work ;  to  cook,  to  hunt,  and  to 
take  care  of  the  horses ;  but  he  had  a  vehement  propensity  to 
do  nothing*  being  one  of  the  worthless  brood  engendered  and 
brought  up  among  the  missions.  He  was,  moreover,  a  little 
spoiled  by  being  really  a  handsome  young  fellow,  an  Adonis  of 
the  frontier,  and  still  worse  by  fancying  himself  highly  con 
nected,  his  sister  being  concubine  to  an  opulent  white  trader ! 

For  our  own  parts,  the  Commissioner  and  myself  were  desi 
rous,  before  setting  out,  to  procure  another  attendant  well  versed 
in  wood  craft,  who  might  serve  us  as  a  hunter ;  for  our  little 
Frenchman  would  have  his  hands  full  when  in  camp,  in  cooking, 
and  on  the  march,  in  taking  care  of  the  pack-horses.  Such  a  one 
presented  himself,  or  rather  was  recommended  to  us,  in  Pierre 
Beatte,  a  half-breed  of  French  and  Osage  parentage.  We  were 
assured  that  he  was  acquainted  with  all  parts  of  the  country, 
Up.ving  traversed  it  in  all  directions,  both  in  hunting  and  war 
parties ;  that  he  would  be  of  use  both  as  guide  and  interpreter, 
and  that  he  was  a  first-rate  hunter. 

I  confess  I  did  not  like  his  looks  when  he  was  first  presented 
to  me.  He  was  lounging  about,  in  an  old  hunting  frock  and 
metasses  or  leggins,  of  deer  skin,  soiled  and  greased,  and  almost 
japanned  by  constant  use.  He  was  apparently  about  thirty-six 
years  of  age,  square  and  strongly  built.  His  features  were  not 
bad,  being  shaped  not  unlike  those  of  Napoleon,  but  sharpened  up, 
with  high  Indian  cheek  bones.  Perhaps  the  dusky  greenish  hue 


A  TOUR  ON  THE   PRAIRIES.  29 


of  his  complexion,  aided  his  resemblance  to  an  old  bronze  bust 
I  had  seen  of  the  Emperor.  He  had,  however,  a  sullen,  saturnine 
expression,  set  off  by  a  slouched  woollen  hat,  and  elf  locks  that 
hung  about  his  ears. 

Such  was  the  appearance  of  the  man,  and  his  manners  were 
equally  unprepossessing.  He  was  cold  and  laconic  ;  made  no 
promises  or  professions ;  stated  the  terms  he  required  for  the 
services  of  himself  and  his  horse,  which  we  thought  rather  high, 
but  showed  no  disposition  to  abate  them,  nor  any  anxiety  to 
secure  our  employ.  He  had  altogether  more  of  the  red  than  the 
white  man  in  his  composition ;  and,  as  I  had  been  taught  to  look 
upon  all  half  breeds  with  distrust,  as  an  uncertain  and  faithless 
race,  I  would  gladly  have  dispensed  with  the  services  of  Pierre 
Beatte.  We  had  no  time,  however,  to  look  out  for  any  one  more 
to  our  taste,  and  had  to  make  an  arrangement  with  him  on  the 
spot.  He  then  set  about  making  his  preparations  for  the  jour 
ney,  promising  to  join  us  at  our  evening's  encampment. 

One  thing  was  yet  wanting  to  fit  me  out  for  the  Prairies — a 
thoroughly  trustworthy  steed :  I  was  not  yet  mounted  to  my 
mind.  The  gray  I  had  bought,  though  strong  and  serviceable, 
was  rough.  At  the  last  moment  I  succeeded  in  getting  an  excel 
lent  animal ;  a  dark  bay  ;  powerful,  active,  generous-spirited,  and 
in  capital  condition.  I  mounted  him  with  exultation,  and  trans 
ferred  the  silver  gray  to  Tonish,  who  was  in  such  ecstasies  at 
finding  himself  so  completely  en  Cavalier,  that  I  feared  he  might 
realize  the  ancient  and  well-known  proverb  of  "  a  beggar  on 
horseback." 


30  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    DEPARTURE. 

THE  long-drawn  notes  of  a  bugle  at  length  gave  the  signal  for 
departure.  The  rangers  filed  off  in  a  straggling  line  of  march 
through  the  woods  :  we  were  soon  on  horseback  and  following  on, 
but  were  detained  by  the  irregularity  of  the  pack-horses.  They 
were  unaccustomed  to  keep  the  line,  and  straggled  from  side  to 
side  among  the  thickets,  in  spite  of  all  the  posting  and  bedeviling 
of  Tonish  ;  who,  mounted  on  his  gallant  gray,  with  a  long  rifle 
on  his  shoulder,  worried  after  them,  bestowing  a  superabundance 
of  dry  blows  and  curses. 

We  soon,  therefore,  lost  sight  of  our  escort,  but  managed  to 
keep  on  their  track,  thridding  lofty  forests,  and  entangled 
thickets,  and  passing  by  Indian  wigwams  and  negro  huts,  until 
towards  dusk  we  arrived  at  a  frontier  farm-house,  owned  by  a 
settler  of  the  name  of  Berryhill.  It  was  situated  on  a  hill,  below 
which  the  rangers  had  encamped  in  a  circular  grove,  on  the 
margin  of  a  stream.  The  master  of  the  house  received  us  civilly, 
but  could  offer  us  no  accommodation,  for  sickness  prevailed  in 
his  family.  He  appeared  himself  to  be  in  no  very  thriving 
condition,  for  though  bulky  in  frame,  he  had  a  sallow,  unhealthy 
complexion,  and  a  whiffling  double  voice,  shifting  abruptly  from 
a  treble  to  a  thorough-bass. 

Finding  his  log  house  was  a  mere  hospital,  crowded  with  inva 
lids,  we  ordered  our  tent  to  be  pitched  in  the  farm-yard. 

We  had  not  been  long  encamped,  when  our  recently  engaged 
attendant,  Beatte,  the  Osage  half-breed,  made  his  appearance. 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  31 


He  came  mounted  on  one  horse  and  leading  another,  which 
seemed  to  be  well  packed  with  supplies  for  the  expedition.  Be- 
atte  was  evidently  an  "  old  soldier,"  as  to  the  art  of  taking  care 
of  himself  and  looking  out  for  emergencies.  Finding  that  he 
was  in  government  employ,  being  engaged  by  the  Commissioner, 
he  had  drawn  rations  of  flour  and  bacon,  and  put  them  up  so  as 
to  be  weather-proof.  In  addition  to  the  horse  for  the  road,  and 
for  ordinary  service,  which  was  a  rough,  hardy  animal,  he  had 
another  for  hunting.  This  was  of  a  mixed  breed  like  himself,  being  . 
a  cross  of  the  domestic  stock  with  the  wild  horse  of  the  prairies ; 
and  a  noble  steed  it  was,  of  generous  spirit,  fine  action,  and  ad 
mirable  bottom.  He  had  taken  care  to  have  his  horses  well  shod 
at  the  Agency.  He  came  prepared  at  all  points  for  war  or  hunt 
ing  :  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  his  powder-horn  and  bullet-pouch 
at  his  side,  his  hunting-knife  stuck  in  his  belt,  and  coils  of  cord 
age  at  his  saddle  bow,  which  we  were  told  were  lariats,  or  noosed 
cords,  used  in  catching  the  wild  horse. 

Thus  equipped  and  provided,  an  Indian  hunter  on  a  prairie 
is  like  a  cruiser  on  the  ocean,  perfectly  independent  of  the  world, 
and  competent  to  self-protection  and  self-maintenance.  He  can 
cast  himself  loose  from  every  one,  shape  his  own  course,  and  take 
care  of  his  own  fortunes.  I  thought  Beatte  seemed  to  feel  his 
independence,  and  to  consider  himself  superior  to  us  all,  now 
that  we  were  launching  into  the  wilderness.  He  maintained 
a  half  proud,  half  sullen  look,  and  great  taciturnity ;  and  his 
first  care  was  to  unpack  his  horses  and  put  them  in  safe  quarters 
for  the  night.  His  whole  demeanor  was  in  perfect  contrast  to 
our  vaporing,  chattering,  bustling  little  Frenchman.  The  latter, 
too,  seemed  jealous  of  this  new-comer.  He  whispered  to  us  that 
these  half-breeds  were  a  touchy,  capricious  people,  little  to  be  de- 


32  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


pended  upon.  That  Bcatte  had  evidently  come  prepared  to  take 
care  of  himself,  and  that,  at  any  moment  in  the  course  of  our 
tour,  he  would  be  liable  to  take  some  sudden  disgust  or  affront, 
and  abandon  us  at  a  moment's  warning  :  having  the  means  of 
shifting  for  himself,  and  being  perfectly  at  home  on  the  prairies. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FRONTIER    SCENES. A    LYCURGUS    OF    THE    BORDER. LYNCH's    LAW. 

THE    DANGER    OF    FINDING    A    HORSE. THE    YOUNG    OSAGE. 

ON  the  following  morning,  (Oct.  11,)  we  were  on  the  march  by 
half-past  seven  o'clock,  and  rode  through  deep  rich  bottoms  of 
alluvial  soil,  overgrown  with  redundant  vegetation,  and  trees  of 
an  enormous  size.  Our  route  lay  parallel  to  the  west  bank  of 
the  Arkansas,  on  the  borders  of  which  river,  near  the  confluence 
of  the  Red  Fork,  we  expected  to  overtake  the  main  body  of 
rangers.  For  some  miles  the  country  was  sprinkled  with  Creek 
villages  and  farm-houses  ;  the  inhabitants  of  which  appeared  to 
have  adopted,  with  considerable  facility,  the  rudiments  of  civili 
zation,  and  to  have  thriven  in  consequence.  Their  farms  were 
well  stocked,  and  their  houses  had  a  look  of  comfort  and 
abundance. 

We  met  with  numbers  of  them  returning  from  one  of  their 
grand  games  of  ball,  for  which  their  nation  is  celebrated.  Some 
were  on  foot,  some  on  horseback ;  the  latter,  occasionally,  with 
gayly-dressed  females  behind  them.  They  are  a  well-made  race, 
muscular  and  closely  knit,  with  well-turned  thighs  and  legs. 
They  have  a  Gipsy  fondness  for  brilliant  colors  and  gay  decora- 


A   TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  }33 


tions,  and  are  bright  and  fanciful  objects  when  seen  at  a  distance 
on  the  prairies.  One  had  a  scarlet  handkerchief  bomrd  round 
his  head,  surmounted  with  a  tuft  of  black  feathers  lijke  a  cock's 
tail.  Another  had  a  white  handkerchief,  with  rea  feathers ; 
while  a  third,  for  want  of  a  plume,  had  stuck  in  his  turban  a 
brilliant  bunch  of  sumach. 

On  the  verge  of  the  wilderness  we  paused  to  inquire  our  way 
at  a  log  house,  owned  by  a  white  settler  or  squatter,  a  tall  raw- 
boned  old  fellow,  with  red  hair,  a  lank  lantern  visage,  and  an 
inveterate  habit  of  winking  with  one  eye,  as  if  every  thing  he 
said  was  of  knowing  import.  He  was  in  a  towering  passion. 
One  of  his  horses  was  missing  ;  he  was  sure  it  had  been  stolen 
in  the  night  by  a  straggling  party  of  Osages  encamped  in  a  neigh 
boring  swamp  ;  but  he  would  have  satisfaction  !  He  would  make 
an  example  of  the  villains.  He  had  accordingly  caught  down 
his  rifle  from  the  wall,  that  invariable  enforcer  of  right  or  wrong 
upon  the  frontiers,  and,  having  saddled  his  steed,  was  about  to 
sally  forth  on  a  foray  into  the  swamp  ;  while  a  brother  squatter, 
with  rifle  in  hand,  stood  ready  to  accompany  him. 

We  endeavored  to  calm  the  old  campaigner  of  the  prairies, 
by  suggesting  that  his  horse  might  have  strayed  into  the  neigh 
boring  woods  ;  but  he  had  the  frontier  propensity  to  charge  every 
thing  to  the  Indians,  and  nothing  could  dissuade  him  from  car 
rying  fire  and  sword  into  the  swamp. 

After  riding  a  few  miles  further  we  lost  the  trail  of  the  main 
body  of  rangers,  and  became  perplexed  by  a  variety  of  tracks 
made  by  the  Indians  and  settlers.  At  length  coming  to  a  log 
house,  inhabited  by  a  white  man,  the  very  last  on  the  frontier,  we 
found  that  we  had  wandered  from  our  true  course.  Taking  us 
back  for  some  distance,  he  again  brought  us  to  the  right  trail ; 

2* 


34  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


putting  ourselves  upon  which,  we  took  our  final  departure,  and 
launched  into  the  broad  wilderness. 

The  trail  kept  on  like  a  straggling  footpath,  over  hill  and 
dale,  through  brush  and  brake,  and  tangled  thicket,  and  open 
prairie.  In  traversing  the  wilds  it  is  customary  for  a  party  either 
of  horse  or  foot  to  follow  each  other  in  single  file  like  the 
Indians ;  so  that  the  leaders  break  the  way  for  those  who  follow, 
and  lessen  their  labor  and  fatigue.  In  this  way,  also,  the  num 
ber  of  a  party  is  concealed,  the  whole  leaving  but  one  narrow 
well  trampled  track  to  mark  their  course. 

We  had  not  long  regained  the  trail,  when,  on  emerging  from 
a  forest,  we  beheld  our  raw-boned,  hard-winking,  hard-riding 
knight-errant  of  the  frontier,  descending  the  slope  of  a  hill,  fol 
lowed  by  his  companion  in  arms.  As  he  drew  near  to  us,  the 
gauntness  of  his  figure  and  ruefulness  of  his  aspect  reminded 
me  of  the  description  of  the  hero  of  La  Mancha,  and  he  was 
equally  bent  on  affairs  of  doughty  enterprise,  being  about  to 
penetrate  the  thickets  of  the  perilous  swamp,  within  which  the 
enemy  lay  ensconced. 

While  we  were  holding  a  parley  with  him  on  the  slope 
of  the  hill,  we  descried  an  Osage  on  horseback  issuing  out 
of  a  skirt  of  wood  about  half  a  mile  off,  and  leading  a  horse  by 
a  halter.  The  latter  was  immediately  recognized  by  our  hard- 
winking  friend  as  the  steed  of  which  he  was  in  quest.  As  the 
Osage  drew  near,  I  was  struck  with  his  appearance.  He  was 
about  nineteen  or  twenty  years  of  age,  but  well  grown,  with  the 
fine  Roman  countenance  common  to  his  tribe,  and  as  he  rode  with 
his  blanket  wrapped  round  his  loins,  his  naked  bust  would  have 
furnished  a  model  for  a  statuary.  He  was  mounted  on  a  beauti 
ful  piebald  horse,  a  mottled  white  and  brown,  of  the  wild  breed 


A  TOUR   ON   THE  PRAIRIES.  35 


of  the  prairies,  decorated  with  a  broad  collar,  from  which  hung 
in  front  a  tuft  of  horse-hair  dyed  of  a  bright  scarlet. 

The  youth  rode  slowly  up  to  us  with  a  frank  open  air,  and 
signified  by  means  of  our  interpreter  Beatte,  that  the  horse  he 
was  leading  had  wandered  to  their  camp,  and  he  was  now  on  his 
way  to  conduct  him  back  to  his  owner. 

I  had  expected  to  witness  an  expression  of  gratitude  on  the 
part  of  our  hard-favored  cavalier,  but  to  my  surprise  the  old 
fellow  broke  out  into  a  furious  passion.  He  declared  that  the 
Indians  had  carried  off  his  horse  in  the  night,  with  the  intention 
of  bringing  him  home  in  the  morning,  and  claiming  a  reward  for 
finding  him :  a  common  practice,  as  he  affirmed,  among  the 
Indians.  He  was,  therefore,  for  tying  the  young  Indian  to  a 
tree  and  giving  him  a  sound  lashing  ;  and  was  quite  surprised  at 
the  burst  of  indignation  which  this  novel  mode  of  requiting  a 
service  drew  from  us.  Such,  however,  is  too  often  the  adminis 
tration  of  law  on  the  frontier,  "  Lynch's  law,"  as  it  is  technically 
termed,  in  which  the  plaintiff  is  apt  to  be  witness,  jury,  judge, 
and  executioner,  and  the  defendant  to  be  convicted  and  punished 
on  mere  presumption  ;  and  in  this  way,  I  am  convinced,  are  occa 
sioned  many  of  those  heart-burnings  and  resentments  among  the 
Indians,  which  lead  to  retaliation,  and  end  in  Indian  wars. 
When  I  compared  the  open,  noble  countenance  and  frank  de 
meanor  of  the  young  Osage,  with  the  sinister  visage  and  high 
handed  conduct  of  the  frontiersman,  I  felt  little  doubt  on  whose 
back  a  lash  would  be  most  meritoriously  bestowed. 

Being  thus  obliged  to  content  himself  with  the  recovery  of 
his  horse,  without  the  pleasure  of  flogging  the  finder  into  the 
bargain,  the  old  Lycurgus,  or  rather  Draco,  of  the  frontier,  set  off 
growling  on  his  return  homeward,  followed  by  his  brother  squatter. 


36  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


As  for  the  youthful  Osage,  we  were  all  prepossessed  in  his 
favor  ;  the  young  Count  especially,  with  the  sympathies  proper  to 
his  age  and  incident  to  his  character,  had  taken  quite  a  fancy  to  him. 
Nothing  would  suit  but  he  must  have  the  young  Osage  as  a 
companion  and  squire  in  his  expedition  into  the  wilderness.  The 
youth  was  easily  tempted,  and,  with  the  prospect  of  a  safe  range 
over  the  buffalo  prairies  and  the  promise  of  a  new  blanket,  he 
turned  his  bridle,  left  the  swamp  and  the  encampment  of  his 
friends  behind  him,  and  set  off  to  follow  the  Count  in  his  wan 
derings  in  quest  of  the  Osage  hunters. 

Such  is  the  glorious  independence  of  man  in  a  savage  state. 
This  youth,  with  his  rifle,  his  blanket,  and  his  horse,  was  ready 
at  a  moment's  warning  to  rove  the  world;  he  carried  all  his 
worldly  effects  with  him,  and  in  the  absence  of  artificial  wants, 
possessed  the  great  secret  of  personal  freedom.  We  of  society 
are  slaves,  not  so  much  to  others  as  to  ourselves  ;  our  superflu 
ities  are  the  chains  that  bind  us,  impeding  every  movement  of 
our  bodies  and  thwarting  every  impulse  of  our  souls.  Such,  at 
least,  were  my  speculations  at  the  time,  though  I  am  not  sure 
but  that  they  took  their  tone  from  the  enthusiasm  of  the  young 
Count,  who  seemed  more  enchanted  than  ever  with  the  wild  chiv 
alry  of  the  prairies,  and  talked  of  putting  on  the  Indian  dress 
and  adopting  the  Indian  habits  during  the  time  he  hoped  to  pass 
with  the  Osages. 


A  TOUR  ON   THE  PRAIRIES.  37 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TRAIL    OF    THE    OSAGE     HUNTERS. DEPARTURE     OF    THE    COUNT    AND 

HIS    PARTY. A    DESERTED  WAR    CAMP. A    VAGRANT    DOG. THE 

ENCAMPMENT. 

IN  the  course  of  the  morning  the  trail  we  were  pursuing  was 
crossed  by  another,  which  struck  off  through  the  forest  to  the 
west  in  a  direct  course  for  the  Arkansas  River.  Beatte,  our 
half-breed,  after  considering  it  for  a  moment,  pronounced  it  the 
trail  of  the  Osage  hunters  ;  and  that  it  must  lead  to  the  place 
where  they  had  forded  the  river  on  their  way  to  the  hunting 
grounds. 

Here  then  the  young  Count  and  his  companion  came  to  a 
halt  and  prepared  to  take  leave  of  us.  The  most  experienced 
frontiersmen  in  the  troop  remonstrated  on  the  hazard  of  the 
undertaking.  They  were  about  to  throw  themselves  loose  in  the 
wilderness,  with  no  other  guides,  guards,  or  attendants,  than  a 
young  ignorant  half-breed,  and  a  still  younger  Indian.  They 
were  embarrassed  by  a  pack-horse  and  two  led  horses,  with  which 
they  would  have  to  make  their  way  through  matted  forests,  and 
across  rivers  and  morasses.  The  Osages  and  Pawnees  were  at 
war.  and  they  might  fall  in  with  some  warrior  party  of  the  latter, 
who  are  ferocious  foes  ;  besides,  their  small  number,  and  their 
valuable  horses  would  form  a  great  temptation  to  'some  of  the 
straggling  bands  of  Osages  loitering  about  the  frontier,  who 
might  rob  them  of  their  horses  in  the  night,  and  leave  them 
destitute  and  on  foot  in  the  midst  of  the  prairies. 

Nothing,  however,  could  restrain  the  romantic  ardor  of  the 


38  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


Count  for  a  campaign  of  buffalo  hunting  with  the  Osages,  and  he 
had  a  game  spirit  that  seemed  always  stimulated  by  the  idea  of 
danger.  His  travelling  companion,  of  discreeter  age  and  calmer 
temperament,  was  convinced  of  the  rashness  of  the  enterprise ; 
but  he  could  not  control  the  impetuous  zeal  of  his  youthful  friend, 
and  he  was  too  loyal  to  leave  him  to  pursue  his  hazardous  scheme 
alone.  To  our  great  regret,  therefore,  we  saw  them  abandon  the 
protection  of  our  escort,  and  strike  off  on  their  hap-hazard  expe 
dition.  The  old  hunters  of  our  party  shook  their  heads,  and  our 
half-breed,  Beatte,  predicted  all  kinds  of  trouble  to  them ;  my 
only  hope  was,  that  they  would  soon  meet  with  perplexities 
enough  to  cool  the  impetuosity  of  the  young  Count,  and  induce 
him  to  rejoin  us.  With  this  idea  we  travelled  slowly,  and  made 
a  considerable  halt  at  noon.  After  resuming  our  march,  we  came 
in  sight  of  the  Arkansas.  It  presented  a  broad  and  rapid 
stream,  bordered  by  a  beach  of  fine  sand,  overgrown  with  willows 
and  cotton-wood  trees.  Beyond  the  river,  the  eye  wandered  over 
a  beautiful  champaign  country,  of  flowery  plains  and  sloping  up 
lands,  diversified  by  groves  and  clumps  of  trees,  and  long  screens 
of  woodland  ;  the  whole  wearing  the  aspect  of  complete,  and  even 
ornamental  cultivation,  instead  of  native  wildness.  Not  far  from 
the  river,  on  an  open  eminence,  we  passed  through  the  recently 
deserted  camping  place  of  an  Osage  war  party.  The  frames  of 
the  tents  or  wigwams  remained,  consisting  of  poles  bent  into  an 
arch,  with  each  end  stuck  into  the  ground  :  these  are  intertwined 
with  twigs  and  branches,  and  covered  with  bark  and  skins. 
Those  experienced  in  Indian  lore,  can  ascertain  the  tribe,  and 
whether  on  a  hunting  or  a  warlike  expedition,  by  the  shape  and 
disposition  of  the  wigwams.  Beatte  pointed  out  to  us,  in  the 
present  skeleton  camp,  the  wigwam  in  which  the  chiefs  had  held 


A  TOUR   ON   THE  PRAIRIES. 


their  consultations  round  the  council-fire ;  and  an  open  area,  well 
trampled  down,  on  which  the  grand  war-dance  had  been  performed. 

Pursuing  our  journey,  as  we  were  passing  through  a  forest, 
we  were  met  by  a  forlorn,  half-famished  dog,  who  came  rambling 
along  the  trail,  with  inflamed  eyes,  and  bewildered  look.  Though 
nearly  trampled  upon  by  the  foremost  rangers,  he  took  notice  of 
no  one,  but  rambled  heedlessly  among  the  horses.  The  cry  of 
"mad  dog"  was  immediately  raised,  and  one  of  the  rangers 
levelled  his  rifle,  but  was  stayed  by  the  ever-ready  humanity  of 
the  Commissioner.  "  He  is  blind  !"  said  he.  "  It  is  the  dog  of 
some  poor  Indian,  following  his  master  by  the  scent.  It  would 
be  a  shame  to  kill  so  faithful  an  animal."  The  ranger  shouldered 
his  rifle,  the  dog  blundered  blindly  through  the  cavalcade  unhurt, 
and  keeping  his  nose  to  the  ground,  continued  his  course  along 
the  trail,  affording  a  rare  instance  of  a  dog  surviving  a  bad  name. 

About  three  o'clock,  we  came  to  a  recent  camping-place  of  the 
company  of  rangers  :  the  brands  of  one  of  their  fires  were  still 
smoking  ;  so  that,  according  to  the  opinion  of  Beatte,  they  could 
not  have  passed  on  above  a  day  previously.  As  there  was  a  fine 
stream  of  water  close  by,  and  plenty  of  pea-vines  for  the  horses, 
we  encamped  here  for  the  night. 

We  had  not  been  here  long,  when  we  heard  a  halloo  from  a 
distance,  and  beheld  the  young  Count  and  his  party  advancing 
through  the  forest.  We  welcomed  them  to  the  camp  with  heart 
felt  satisfaction  ;  for  their  departure  upon  so  hazardous  an  expe 
dition  had  caused  us  great  uneasiness.  A  short  experiment  had 
convinced  them  of  the  toil  and  difficulty  of  inexperienced  travel 
lers  like  themselves  making  their  way  through  the  wilderness 
with  such  a  train  of  horses,  and  such  slender  attendance.  Fortu 
nately,  they  determined  to  rejoin  us  before  nightfall ;  one  night's 


40  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


camping  out  might  have  cost  them  their  horses.  The  Count  had 
prevailed  upon  his  protegee  and  esquire,  the  young  Osagc,  to  con 
tinue  with  him,  and  still  calculated  upon  achieving  great  exploits 
with  his  assistance,  on  the  buffalo  prairies. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

NEWS    OF    THE     RANGERS. THE    COUNT    AND     HIS    INDIAN    SQUIRE. 

HALT    IN    THE    WOODS. WOODLAND     SCENE. OSAGE    VILLAGE. 

OSAGE    VISITORS    AT    OUR    EVENING    CAMP. 

IN  the  morning  early,  (Oct.  12,)  the  two  Creeks  who  had  been 
sent  express  by  the  commander  of  Fort  Gibson,  to  stop  the  com 
pany  of  rangers,  arrived  at  our  encampment  on  their  return. 
They  had  left  the  company  encamped  about  fifty  miles  distant,  in 
a  fine  place  on  the  Arkansas,  abounding  in  game,  where  they  in 
tended  to  await  our  arrival.  This  news  spread  animation  through 
out  our  party,  and  we  set  out  on  our  march  at  sunrise,  with  re 
newed  spirit. 

In  mounting  our  steeds,  the  young  Osage  attemped  to  throw 
a  blanket  upon  his  wild  horse.  The  fine,  sensitive  animal  took 
fright,  reared  and  recoiled.  The  attitudes  of  the  wild  horse  and 
the  almost  naked  savage,  would  have  formed  studies  for  a  painter 
or  a  statuary. 

I  often  pleased  myself  in  the  course  of  our  march,  with  no 
ticing  the  appearance  of  the  young  Count  and  his  newly-enlisted 
follower,  as  they  rode  before  me.  Never  was  preuxjjhevalier  bet 
ter  suited  with  an  esquire.  The  Count  was  well  mounted,  and, 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  41 


as  I  have  before  observed,  was  a  bold  and  graceful  rider.  He 
was  fond,  too,  of  caracoling  his  horse,  and  dashing  about  in  the 
buoyancy  of  youthful  spirits.  His  dress  was  a  gay  Indian  hunt 
ing  frock  of  dressed  deer  skin,  setting  well  to  the  shape,  dyed  of 
a  beautiful  purple,  and  fancifully  embroidered  with  silks  of  various 
colors  ;  as  if  it  had  been  the  work  of  some  Indian  beauty,  to  deco 
rate  a  favorite  chief.  With  this  he  wore  leathern  pantaloons  and 
moccasons,  a  foraging  cap,  and  a  double-barrelled  gun  slung  by 
a  bandoleer  athwart  his  back  :  so  that  he  was  quite  a  picturesque 
figure  as  he  managed  gracefully  his  spirited  steed. 

The  young  Osage  would  ride  close  behind  him  on  his  wild  and 
beautifully  mottled  horse,  which  was  decorated  with  crimson  tufts 
of  hair.  He  rode  with  his  finely  shaped  head  and  bust  naked ; 
his  blanket  being  girt  round  his  waist.  He  carried  his  rifle  in 
one  hand,  and  managed  his  horse  with  the  other,  and  seemed 
ready  to  dash  off  at  a  moment's  warning,  with  his  youthful  leader, 
on  any  madcap  foray  or  scamper.  The  Count,  with  the  sanguine 
anticipations  of  youth,  promised  himself  many  hardy  adventures 
and  exploits  in  company  with  his  youthful  "  brave,"  when  we 
should  get  among  the  buffaloes,  in  the  Pawnee  hunting  grounds. 

After  riding  some  distance,  we  crossed  a  narrow,  deep  stream, 
upon  a  solid  bridge,  the  remains  of  an  old  beaver  dam  :  the  indus 
trious  community  which  had  constructed  it  had  all  been  de 
stroyed.  Above  us,  a  streaming  flight  of  wild  geese,  high  in  air, 
and  making  a  vociferous  noise,  gave  note  of  the  waning  year. 

About  half  past  ten  o'clock  we  made  a  halt  in  a  forest,  where 
there  was  abundance  of  the  pea-vine.  Here  we  turned  the  horses 
loose  to  graze.  A  fire  was  made,  water  procured  from  an  adja 
cent  spring,  and  in  a  short  time  our  little  Frenchman,  Tonish, 
had  a  pot  of  coffee  prepared  for  our  refreshment.  While  par- 


42  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


taking  of  it,  we  were  joined  by  an  old  Osage,  one  of  a  small 
hunting  party  who  had  recently  passed  this  way.  He  was  in 
search  of  his  horse,  which  had  wandered  away,  or  been  stolen. 
Our  half-breed,  Beatte,  made  a  wry  face  on  hearing  of  Osage 
hunters  in  this  direction.  "  Until  we  pass  those  hunters,"  said 
he,  "  we  shall  see  no  buffaloes.  They  frighten  away  every  thing, 
like  a  prairie  on  fire." 

The  morning  repast  being  over,  the  party  amused  themselves 
in  various  ways.  Some  shot  with  their  rifles  at  a  mark,  others 
lay  asleep  half  buried  in  the  deep  bed  of  foliage,  with  their  heads 
resting  on  their  saddles  ;  others  gossiped  round  the  fire  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree,  which  sent  up  wreaths  of  blue  smoke  among  the 
branches.  The  horses  banqueted  luxuriously  on  the  pea-vines, 
and  some  lay  down  and  rolled  amongst  them. 

We  were  overshadowed  by  lofty  trees,  with  straight,  smooth 
trunks,  like  stately  columns  ;  and  as  the  glancing  rays  of  the 
sun  shone  through  the  transparent  leaves,  tinted  with  the  many- 
colored  hues  of  autumn,  I  was  reminded  of  the  effect  of  sunshine 
among  the  stained  windows  and  clustering  columns  of  a  Gothic 
cathedral.  Indeed  there  is  a  grandeur  and  solemnity  in  our  spa 
cious  forests  of  the  West,  that  awaken  in  me  the  same  feeling  I 
have  experienced  in  those  vast  and  venerable  piles,  and  the  sound 
of  the  wind  sweeping  through  them,  supplies  occasionally  the 
deep  breathings  of  the  organ. 

About  noon  the  bugle  sounded  to  horse,  and  we  were  again 
on  the  march,  hoping  to-  arrive  at  the  encampment  of  the  rangers 
before  night ;  as  the  old  Osage  had  assured  us  it  was  not  above 
ten  or  twelve  miles  distant.  In  our  course  through  a  forest,  we 
passed  by  a  lonely  pool,  covered  with  the  most  magnificent  water- 
lilies  I  had  ever  beheld  ;  among  which  swam  several  wood-ducks, 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  43 


one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  water-fowl,  remarkable  for  the  grace 
fulness  and  brilliancy  of  its  plumage. 

After  proceeding  some  distance  farther,  we  came  down  upon 
the  banks  of  the  Arkansas,  at  a  place  where  tracks  of  numerous 
horses,  all  entering  the  water,  showed  where  a  party  of  Osage 
hunters  had  recently  crossed  the  river  on  their  way  to  the  buffalo 
jange.  After  letting  our  horses  drink  in  the  river,  we  continued 
along  its  bank  for  a  space,  and  then  across  prairies,  where  we  saw 
a  distant  smoke,  which  we  hoped  might  proceed  from  the  encamp 
ment  of  the  rangers.  Following  what  we  supposed  to  be  their 
trail,  we  came  to  a  meadow  in  which  were  a  number  of  horses 
grazing :  they  were  not,  however,  the  horses  of  the  troop.  A 
little  farther  on,  we  reached  a  straggling  Osage  village,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Arkansas.  Our  arrival  created  quite  a  sensation. 
A  number  of  old  men  came  forward  and  shook  hands  with  us  all 
severally ;  while  the  women  and  children  huddled  together  in 
groups,  staring  at  us  wildly,  chattering  and  laughing  among  them 
selves.  We  found  that  all  the  young  men  of  the  village  had  de 
parted  on  a  hunting  expedition,  leaving  the  women  and  children 
and  old  men  behind.  Here  the  Commissioner  made  a  speech 
from  on  horseback ;  informing  his  hearers  of  the  purport  of  his 
mission,  to  promote  a  general  peace  among  the  tribes  of  the  West, 
and  urging  them  to  lay  aside  all  warlike  and  bloodthirsty  notions, 
and  not  to  make  any  wanton  attacks  upon  the  Pawnees.  This 
speech  being  interpreted  by  Beatte,  seemed  to  have  a  most  paci 
fying  effect  upon  the  multitude,  who  promised  faithfully  that,  as 
far  as  in  them  lay,  the  peace  should  not  be  disturbed  ;  and  indeed 
their  age  and  sex  gave  some  reason  to  trust  that  they  would  keep 
their  word. 

Still  hoping  to  reach  the  camp  of  the  rangers  before  nightfall, 


44  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


we  pushed  on  until  twilight,  when  we  were  obliged  to  halt  on  the 
borders  of  a  ravine.  The  rangers  bivouacked  under  trees,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  dell,  while  we  pitched  our  tent  on  a  rocky  knoll 
near  a  running  stream.  The  night  came  on  dark  and  overcast, 
with  flying  clouds,  and  much  appearance  of  rain.  The  fires  of 
the  rangers  burnt  brightly  in  the  dell,  and  threw  strong  masses 
of  light  upon  the  robber-looking  groups  that  were  cooking,  eating 
and  drinking  around  them.  To  add  to  the  wildness  of  the  scene, 
several  Osage  Indians,  visitors  from  the  village  we  had  passed, 
were  mingled  among  the  men.  Three  of  them  came  and  seated 
themselves  by  our  fire.  They  watched  every  thing  that  was  going 
on  round  them  in  silence,  and  looked  like  figures  of  monumental 
bronze.  We  gave  them  food,  and,  what  they  most  relished,  coffee  ; 
for  the  Indians  partake  in  the  universal  fondness  for  this  beverage, 
which  pervades  the  West.  When  they  had  made  their  supper, 
they  stretched  themselves,  side  by  side,  before  the  fire,  and  began 
a  low  nasal  chant,  drumming  with  their  hands  upon  their  breasts, 
by  way  of  accompaniment.  Their  chant  seemed  to  consist  of 
regular  staves,  every  one  terminating,  not  in  a  melodious  cadence, 
but  in  the  abrupt  interjection  huh  !  uttered  almost  like  a  hiccup. 
This  chant,  we  were  told  by  our  interpreter,  Beatte,  related  to 
ourselves,  our  appearance,  our  treatment  of  them,  and  all  that 
they  knew  of  our  plans.  In  one  part  they  spoke  of  the  young 
Count,  whose  animated  character  and  eagerness  for  Indian  enter 
prise  had  struck  their  fancy,  and  they  indulged  in  some  waggery 
about  him  and  the  young  Indian  beauties,  that  produced  great 
merriment  among  our  half-breeds. 

This  mode  of  improvising  is  common  throughout  the  savage 
tribes  ;  and  in  this  way,  with  a  few  simple  inflections  of  the  voice, 
they  chant  all  their  exploits  in  war  and  hunting,  and  occasionally 


A  TOUR   ON  THE   PRAIRIES.  45 


indulge  in  a  vein  of  comic  humor  and  dry  satire,  to  which  the 
Indians  appear  to  me  much  more  prone  than  is  generally  ima 
gined. 

In  fact,  the  Indians  that  I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
in  real  life,  are  quite  different  from  those  described  in  poetry. 
They  are  by  no  means  the  stoics  that  they  are  represented ;  taci 
turn,  unbending,  without  a  tear  or  a  smile.  Taciturn  they  are, 
it  is  true,  when  in  company  with  white  men,  whose  good-will 
they  distrust,  and  whose  language  they  do  not  understand ;  but 
the  white  man  is  equally  taciturn  under  like  circumstances. 
When  the  Indians  are  among  themselves,  however,  there  cannot 
be  greater  gossips.  Half  their  time  is  taken  up  in  talking  over 
their  adventures  in  war  and  hunting,  and  in  telling  whimsical 
stories.  They  are  great  mimics  and  buffoons,  also,  and  entertain 
themselves  excessively  at  the  expense  of  the  whites  with  whom 
they  have  associated,  and  who  have  supposed  them  impressed 
with  profound  respect  for  their  grandeur  and  dignity.  They  are 
curious  observers,  noting  every  thing  in  silence,  but  with  a  keen 
and  watchful  eye ;  occasionally  exchanging  a  glance  or  a  grunt 
with  each  other,  when  any  thing  particularly  strikes  them :  but 
reserving  all  comments  until  they  are  alone.  Then  it  is  that 
they  give  full  scope  to  criticism,  satire,  mimicry,  and  mirth. 

In  the  course  of  my  journey  along  the  frontier,  I  have  had 
repeated  opportunities  of  noticing  their  excitability  and  boiste 
rous  merriment  at  their  games ;  and  have  occasionally  noticed  a 
group  of  Osages  sitting  round  a  fire  until  a  late  hour  of  the 
night,  engaged  in  the  most  animated  and  lively  conversation  ; 
and  at  times  making  the  woods  resound  with  peals  of  laughter. 
As  to  tears,  they  have  them  in  abundance,  both  real  and  affected; 
at  times  they  make  a  merit  of  them.  No  one  weeps  more  bitterly 


4G  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


or  profusely  at  the  death  of  a  relative  or  friend :  and  they  have 
stated  times  when  they  repair  to  howl  and  lament  at  their  graves. 
I  have  heard  doleful  wailings  at  daybreak,  in  the  neighboring 
Indian  villages,  made  by  some  of  the  inhabitants,  who  go  out  at 
that  hour  into  the  fields,  to  mourn  and  weep  for  the  dead :  at 
such  times,  I  am  told,  the  tears  will  stream  down  their  cheeks  in 
torrents. 

As  far  as  I  can  judge,  the  Indian  of  poetical  fiction  is  like 
the  shepherd  of  pastoral  romance,  a  mere  personification  of  ima 
ginary  attributes. 

The  nasal  chant  of  our  Osage  guests  gradually  died  away ; 
they  covered  their  heads  with  their  blankets  and  fell  fast  asleep, 
and  in  a  little  while  all  was  silent,  excepting  the  pattering  of 
scattered  rain-drops  upon  our  tent. 

In  the  morning  our  Indian  visitors  breakfasted  with  us,  but 
the  young  Osage  who  was  to  act  as  esquire  to  the  Count  in  his 
knight-errantry  on  the  prairies,  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  His 
wild  horse,  too,  was  missing,  and,  after  many  conjectures,  we 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  taken  "  Indian  leave1'  of  us 
in  the  night.  "We  afterwards  ascertained  that  he  had  been  per 
suaded  so  to  do  by  the  Osages  we  had  recently  met  with ;  who 
had  represented  to  him  the  perils  that  would  attend  him  in  an 
expedition  to  the  Pawnee  hunting  grounds,  where  he  might  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  implacable  enemies  of  his  tribe :  and,  what 
was  scarcely  less  to  be  apprehended,  the  annoyances  to  which  he 
would  be  subjected  from  the  capricious  and  overbearing  conduct 
of  the  white  men ;  who,  as  I  have  witnessed  in  my  own  short 
experience,  are  prone  to  treat  the  poor  Indians  as  little  better 
than  brute  animals.  Indeed,  he  had  had  a  specimen  of  it  him 
self  in  the  narrow  escape  he  made  from  the  infliction  of  "  Lynch's 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIR 


law,"  by  the  hard-winking  worthy  of  the  frontier,  for  the  flagitious 
crime  of  finding  a  stray  horse. 

The  disappearance  of  the  youth  was  generally  regretted  by 
our  party,  for  we  had  all  taken  a  great  fancy  to  him  from  his 
handsome,  frank,  and  manly  appearance,  and  the  easy  grace  of 
his  deportment.  He  was  indeed  a  native-born  gentleman.  By 
none,  however,  was  he  so  much  lamented  as  by  the  young  Count, 
who  thus  suddenly  found  himself  deprived  of  his  esquire.  I 
regretted  the  departure  of  the  Osage  for  his  own  sake,  for  we 
should  have  cherished  him  throughout  the  expedition,  and  I  am 
convinced,  from  the  munificent  spirit  of  his  patron,  he  would 
have  returned  to  his  tribe  laden  with  wealth  of  beads  and  trin 
kets  and  Indian  blankets. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   HONEY    CAMP. 

THE  weather,  which  had  been  rainy  in  the  night,  having  held  up, 
we  resumed  our  march  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  in  confi 
dent  hope  of  soon  arriving  at  the  encampment  of  the  rangers. 
We  had  not  ridden  above  three  or  four  miles  when  we  came  to  a 
large  tree  which  had  recently  been  felled  by  an  axe,  for  the  wild 
honey  contained  in  the  hollow  of  its  trunk,  several  broken  flakes 
of  which  still  remained.  We  now  felt  sure  that  the  camp  could 
not  be  far  distant.  About  a  couple  of  miles  further  some  of 
the  rangers  set  up  a  shout,  and  pointed  to  a  number  of  horses 
grazing  in  a  woody  bottom.  A  few  paces  brought  us  to  the  brow 


48  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 

of  an  elevated  ridge,  whence  we  looked  down  upon  the  encamp 
ment.  It  was  a  wild  bandit,  or  Robin  Hood,  scene.  In  a  beau 
tiful  open  forest,  traversed  by  a  running  stream,  were  booths  of 
bark  and  branches,  and  tents  of  blankets,  temporary  shelters 
from  the  recent  rain,  for  the  rangers  commonly  bivouac  in  the 
open  air.  There  were  groups  of  rangers  in  every  kind  of  uncouth 
garb.  Some  were  cooking  at  large  fires  made  at  the  feet  of  trees; 
some  were  stretching  and  dressing  deer  skins ;  some  were  shoot 
ing  at  a  mark,  and  some  lying  about  on  the  grass.  Yenison 
jerked,  and  hung  on  frames,  was  drying  over  the  embers  in  one 
place ;  in  another  lay  carcasses  recently  brought  in  by  the  hunt 
ers.  Stacks  of  rifles  were  leaning  against  the  trunks  of  the  trees, 
and  saddles,  bridles,  and  powder-horns  hanging  above  them, 
while  the  horses  were  grazing  here  and  there  among  the  thickets. 

Our  arrival  was  greeted  with  acclamation.  The  rangers 
crowded  about  their  comrades  to  inquire  the  news  from  the  fort : 
for  our  own  part,  we  were  received  in  frank  simple  hunter's  style 
by  Captain  Bean,  the  commander  of  the  company ;  a  man  about 
forty  years  of  age,  vigorous  and  active.  His  life  had  been  chiefly 
passed  on  the  frontier,  occasionally  in  Indian  warfare,  so  that  he 
was  a  thorough  woodsman,  and  a  first-rate  hunter.  He  was 
equipped  in  character;  in  leathern  hunting  shirt  and  leggins, 
and  a  leathern  foraging  cap. 

While  we  were  conversing  with  the  Captain,  a  veteran  hunts 
man  approached,  whose  whole  appearance  struck  me.  He  was 
of  the  middle  size,  but  tough  and  weather-proved ;  a  head  partly 
bald  and  garnished  with  loose  iron-gray  locks,  and  a  fine  black 
eye,  beaming  with  youthful  spirit.  His  dress  was  similar  to  that 
of  the  Captain,  a  rifle  shirt  and  leggins  of  dressed  deer  skin,  that 
had  evidently  seen  service  ;  a  powder-horn  was  slung  by  his  side, 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  49 


a  hunting  knife  stuck  in  his  belt,  and  in  his  hand  was  an  ancient 
and  trusty  rifle,  doubtless  as  dear  to  him  as  a  bosom  friend. 
He  asked  permission  to  go  hunting,  -which  was  readily  granted. 
"  That's  old  Ryan,"  said  the  Captain,  when  he  had  gone ; 
"  there's  not  a  better  hunter  in  the  camp ;  he's  sure  to  bring  in 
game." 

In  a  little  while  our  pack-horses  were  unloaded  and  turned 
loose  to  revel  among  the  pea-vines.  Our  tent  was  pitched  ;  our 
fire  made  ;  the  half  of  a  deer  had  been  sent  to  us  from  the 
Captain's  lodge ;  Beatte  brought  in  a  couple  of  wild  turkeys ; 
the  spits  were  laden,  and  the  camp-kettle  crammed  with  meat ; 
and  to  crown  our  luxuries,  a  basin  filled  with  great  flakes  of 
delicious  honey,  the  spoils  of  a  plundered  bee-tree,  was  given  us 
by  one  of  the  rangers. 

Our  little  Frenchman,  Tonish,  was  in  an  ecstasy,  and  tucking 
up  his  sleeves  to  the  elbows,  set  to  work  to  make  a  display  of  his 
culinary  skill,  on  which  he  prided  himself  almost  as  much  as 
upon  his  hunting,  his  riding,  and  his  warlike  prowess. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A    BEE    HUNT. 

THE  beautiful  forest  in  which  we  were  encamped  abounded  in 
bee-trees  ;  that  is  to  say,  trees  in  the  decayed  trunks  of  which 
wild  bees  had  established  their  hives.  It  is  surprising  in 
what  countless  swarms  the  bees  have  overspread  the  Far  "West, 
within  but  a  moderate  number  of  years.  The  Indians  consider 

3 


50  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


them  the  harbinger  of  the  white  man,  as  the  buffalo  is  of  the  red 
man" ;  and  say  that,  in  proportion  as  the  bee  advances,  the  Indian 
and  buffalo  retire.  We  are  always  accustomed  to  associate  the 
hum  of  the  bee-hive  with  the  farmhouse  and  flower-garden,  and 
to  consider  those  industrious  little  animals  as  connected  with 
the  busy  haunts  of  man,  and  I  am  told  that  the  wild  bee  is  sel 
dom  to  be  met  with  at  any  great  distance  from  the  frontier. 
They  have  been  the  heralds  of  civilization,  steadfastly  preceding 
it  as  it  advanced  from  the  Atlantic  borders,  and  some  of  the 
ancient  settlers  of  the  West  pretend  to  give  the  very  year  when 
the  honey-bee  first  crossed  the  Mississippi.  The  Indians  with 
surprise  found  the  mouldering  trees  of  their  forests  suddenly 
teeming  with  ambrosial  sweets,  and  nothing,  I  am  told,  can  ex 
ceed  the  greedy  relish  with  which  they  banquet  for  the  first  time 
upon  this  unbought  luxury  of  the  wilderness. 

At  present  the  honey-bee  swarms  in  myriads,  in  the  noble 
groves  and  forests  which  skirt  and  intersect  the  prairies,  and 
extend  along  the  alluvial  bottoms  of  the  rivers.  It  seems  to  me 
as  if  these  beautiful  regions  answer  literally  to  the  description 
of  the  land  of  promise,  "  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey  ;" 
for  the  rich  pasturage  of  the  prairies  is  calculated  to  sustain 
herds  of  cattle  as  countless  as  the  sands  upon  the  sea-shore,  while 
the  flowers  with  which  they  are  enamelled  render  them  a  very 
paradise  for  the  nectar-seeking  bee. 

We  had  not  been  long  in  the  camp  when  a  party  set  out  in 
quest  of  a  bee-tree  ;  and,  being  curious  to  witness  the  sport,  I 
gladly  accepted  an  invitation  to  accompany  them.  The  party 
was  headed  by  a  veteran  bee-hunter,  a  tall  lank  fellow  in  home 
spun  garb  that  hung  loosely  about  his  limbs,  and  a  straw  hat 
shaped  not  unlike  a  bee-hive  ;  a  comrade,  equally  uncouth  in 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  51 


garb,  and  without  a  hat,  straddled  along  at  his  heels,  with  a  long 
rifle  on  his  shoulder.  To  these  succeeded  half  a  dozen  others, 
some  with  axes  and  some  with  rifles,  for  no  one  stirs  far  from  the 
camp  without  his  firearms,  so  as  to  be  ready  either  for  wild  deer 
or  wild  Indian. 

After  proceeding  some  distance  we  came  to  an  open  glade  on 
the  skirts  of  the  forest.  Here  our  leader  halted,  and  then  ad 
vanced  quietly  to  a  low  bush,  on  the  top  of  which  I  perceived  a 
piece  of  honey-comb.  This  I  found  was  the  bait  or  lure  for  the 
wild  bees.  Several  were  humming  about  it,  and  diving  into  its 
cells.  When  they  had  laden  themselves  with  honey  they  would 
rise  into  the  air,  and  dart  off  in  a  straight  line,  almost  with  the 
velocity  of  a  bullet.  The  hunters  watched  attentively  the  course 
they  took,  and  then  set  off  in  the  same  direction,  stumbling  along 
over  twisted  roots  and  fallen  trees,  with  their  eyes  turned  up  to  the 
sky.  In  this  way  they  traced  the  honey-laden  bees  to  their  hive, 
in  the  hollow  trunk  of  a  blasted  oak,  where,  after  buzzing  about 
for  a  moment,  they  entered  a  hole  about  sixty  feet  from  the 
ground. 

Two  of  the  bee-hunters  now  plied  their  axes  vigorously  at 
the  foot  of  the  tree  to  level  it  with  the  ground.  The  mere  spec 
tators  and  amateurs,  in  the  meantime,  drew  off  to  a  cautious 
distance,  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  the  falling  of  the  tree  and  the 
vengeance  of  its  inmates.  The  jarring  blows  of  the  axe  seemed 
to  have  no  effect  in  alarming  or  disturbing  this  most  industrious 
community.  They  continued  to  ply  at  their  usual  occupations, 
some  arriving  full  freighted  into  port,  others  sallying  forth  on 
new  expeditions,  like  so  many  merchantmen  in  a  money-making 
metropolis,  little  suspicious  of  impending  bankruptcy  and  down 
fall.  Even  a  loud  crack  which  announced  the  disrupture  of  the 


52  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


trunk,  failed  to  divert  their  attention  from  the  intense  pursuit  of 
gain  ]  at  length  down  came  the  tree  with  a  tremendous  crash, 
bursting  open  from  end  to  end,  and  displaying  all  the  hoarded 
treasures  of  the  commonwealth. 

One  of  the  hunters  immediately  ran  up  with  a  whisp  of  lighted 
hay  as  a  defence  against  the  bees.  The  latter,  however,  made  no 
attack  and  sought  no  revenge ;  they  seemed  stupefied  by  the  ca 
tastrophe  and  unsuspicious  of  its  cause,  and  remained  crawling 
and  buzzing  about  the  ruins  without  offering  us  any  molestation. 
Every  one  of  the  party  now  fell  to,  with  spoon  and  hunting  knife, 
to  scoop  out  the  flakes  of  honey-comb  with  which  the  hollow  trunk 
was  stored.  Some  of  them  were  of  old  date  and  a  deep  brown 
color,  others  were  beautifully  white,  and  the  honey  in  their  cells 
was  almost  limpid.  Such  of  the  combs  as  were  entire  were  placed 
in  camp  kettles  to  be  conveyed  to  the  encampment ;  those  which 
had  been  shivered  in  the  fall  were  devoured  upon  the  spot.  Every 
stark  bee-hunter  was  to  be  seen  with  a  rich  morsel  in  his  hand, 
dripping  about  his  fingers,  and  disappearing  as  rapidly  as  a  cream 
tart  before  the  holiday  appetite  of  a  schoolboy. 

Nor  was  it  the  bee-hunters  alone  that  profited  by  the  down 
fall  of  this  industrious  community ;  as  if  the  bees  would  carry 
through  the  similitude  of  their  habits  with  those  of  laborious  and 
gainful  man,  I  beheld  numbers  from  rival  hives,  arriving  on  eager 
wing,  to  enrich  themselves-  with  the  ruins  of  their  neighbors. 
These  busied  themselves  as  eagerly  and  cheerfully  as  so  many 
wreckers  on  an  Indiaman  that  has  been  driven  on  shore ;  plung 
ing  into  the  cells  of  the  broken  honey-combs,  banqueting  greedily 
on  the  spoil,  and  then  winging  their  way  full  freighted  to  their 
homes.  As  to  the  poor  proprietors  of  the  ruin,  they  seemed  to 
have  no  heart  to  do  any  thing,  not  even  to  taste  the  nectar  that 


A  TOUR   ON   THE  PRAIRIES. 


flowed  around  them ;  but  crawled  backwards  and  forwards,  in 
vacant  desolation,  as  I  have  seen  a  poor  fellow  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  whistling  vacantly  and  despondingly  about  the  ruins 
of  his  house  that  had  been  burnt. 

It  is  difficult  to  describe  the  bewilderment  and  confusion  of 
the  bees  of  the  bankrupt  hive  who  had  been  absent  at  the  time 
of  the  catastrophe,  and  who  arrived  from  time  to  time,  with 
full  cargoes  from  abroad.  At  first  they  wheeled  about  in  the  air, 
in  the  place  where  the  fallen  tree  had  once  reared  its  head,  as 
tonished  at  finding  it  all  a  vacuum.  At  length,  as  if  compre 
hending  their  disaster,  they  settled  down  in  clusters  on  a  dry 
branch  of  a  neighboring  tree,  whence  they  seemed  to  contemplate 
the  prostrate  ruin,  and  to  buzz  forth  doleful  lamentations  over 
the  downfall  of  their  republic.  It  was  a  scene  on  which  the 
"  melancholy  Jacques  "  might  have  moralized  by  the  hour. 

"We  now  abandoned  the  place,  leaving  much  honey  in  the  hol 
low  of  the  tree.  "  It  will  all  be  cleared  off  by  varmint,"  said 
one  of  the  rangers.  "  What  vermin  ?"  asked  I.  "  Oh,  bears, 
and  skunks,  and  racoons,  and  'possums.  The  bears  is  the 
knowingest  varmint  for  finding  out  a  bee-tree  in  the  world. 
They'll  gnaw  for  days  together  at  the  trunk  till  they  make  a  hole 
big  enough  to  get  in  their  paws,  and  then  they'll  haul  out  honey, 
bees  and  all." 


54  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


CHAPTER  X. 

AMUSEMENTS    IN    THE    CAMP. CONSULTATIONS. HUNTERS5    FARE  AND 

FEASTING. EVENING     SCENES. CAMP     MELODY. THE    FATE     OF 

AN    AMATEUR    OWL. 

ON  returning  to  the  camp,  we  found  it  a  scene  of  the  greatest 
hilarity.  Some  of  the  rangers  were  shooting  at  a  mark,  others  were 
leaping,  wrestling,  and  playing  at  prison  bars.  They  were  mostly 
young  men,  on  their  first  expedition,  in  high  health  and  vigor,  and 
buoyant  with  anticipations  ;  and  I  can  conceive  nothing  more  likely 
to  set  the  youthful  blood  into  a  flow,  than  a  wild  wood  life  of  the 
kind,  and  the  range  of  a  magnificent  wilderness,  abounding  with 
game,  and  fruitful  of  adventure.  We  send  our  youth  abroad  to 
grow  luxurious  and  effeminate  in  Europe ;  it  appears  to  me,  that 
a  previous  tour  on  the  prairies  would  be  more  likely  to  produce 
that  manliness,  simplicity,  and  self-dependence,  most  in  unison 
with  our  political  institutions. 

While  the  young  men  were  engaged  in  these  boisterous 
amusements,  a  graver  set,  composed  of  the  Captain,  the  Doctor, 
and  other  sages  and  leaders  of  the  camp,  were  seated  or  stretched 
out  on  the  grass,  round  a  frontier  map,  holding  a  consultation 
about  our  position,  and  the  course  we  were  to  pursue. 

Our  plan  was  to  cross  the  Arkansas  just  above  where  the 
Red  Fork  falls  into  it,  then  to  keep  westerly,  until  we  should  pass 
through  a  grand  belt  of  open  forest,  called  the  Cross  Timber, 
which  ranges  nearly  north  and  south  from  the  Arkansas  to  Red 
River  ;  after  which,  we  were  to  keep  a  southerly  course  towards 
the  latter  river. 


A   TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  55 


Our  half-breed,  Beatte,  being  an  experienced  Osage  hunter, 
was  called  into  the  consultation.  "  Have  you  ever  hunted  in  this 
direction  ?"  said  the  Captain.  "  Yes,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"  Perhaps,  then,  you  can  tell  us  in  which  direction  lies  the 
Red  Fork?" 

"  If  you  keep  along  yonder,  by  the  edge  of  the  prairie,  you 
will  come  to  a  bald  hiil,  with  a  pile  of  stones  upon  it." 

"  I  have  noticed  that  hill  as  I  was  hunting,"  said  the  Captain. 

"  Well !  those  stones  were  set  up  by  the  Osages  as  a  land 
mark  :  from  that  spot  you  may  have  a  sight  of  the  Red  Fork." 

"  In  that  case,"  cried  the  Captain,  "  we  shall  reach  the  Red 
Fork  to-morrow;  then  cross  the  Arkansas  above  it,  into  the 
Pawnee  country,  and  then  in  two  days  we  shall  crack  buffalo 
bones !" 

The  idea  of  arriving  at  the  adventurous  hunting  grounds  of 
the  Pawnees,  and  of  coming  upon  the  traces  of  the  buffaloes, 
made  every  eye  sparkle  with  animation.  Our  further  conversa 
tion  was  interrupted  by  the  sharp  report  of  a  rifle  at  no  great  dis 
tance  from  the  camp. 

"  That:s  old  Ryan's  rifle,"  exclaimed  the  Captain  ;  "  there's 
a  buck  down,  I'll  warrant !"  nor  was  he  mistaken ;  for,  before 
long,  the  veteran  made  his  appearance,  calling  upon  one  of  the 
younger  rangers  to  return  with  him,  and  aid  in  bringing  home 
the  carcass. 

The  surrounding  country,  in  fact,  abounded  with  game,  so 
that  the  camp  was  overstocked  with  provisions,  and,  as  no  less 
than  twenty  bee-trees  had  been  cut  down  in  the  vicinity,  every 
one  revelled  in  luxury.  With  the  wasteful  prodigality  of  hunt 
ers,  there  was  a  continual  feasting,  and  scarce  any  one  put  by 
provision  for  the  morrow.  The  cooking  was  conducted  in  hunt- 


56  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


ers'  style  :  the  meat  was  stuck  upon  tapering  spits  of  dogwood, 
which  were  thrust  perpendicularly  into  the  ground,  so  as  to  sus 
tain  the  joint  before  the  fire,  where  it  was  roasted  or  broiled  with 
all  its  juices  retained  in  it  in  a  manner  that  would  have  tickled 
the  palate  of  the  most  experienced  gourmand.  As  much  could 
not  be  said  in  favor  of  the  bread.  It  was  little  more  than  a  paste 
made  of  flour  and  water,  and  fried  like  fritters,  in  lard ;  though 
some  adopted  a  ruder  style,  twisting  it  round  the  ends  of  sticks, 
and  thus  roasting  it  before  the  fire.  In  either  way,  I  have  found 
it  extremely  palatable  on  the  prairies.  No  one  knows  the  true 
relish  of  food  until  he  has  a  hunter's  appetite. 

Before  sunset,  we  were  summoned  by  little  Tonish  to  a  sump 
tuous  repast.  Blankets  had  been  spread  on  the  ground  near  to 
the  fire,  upon  which  we  took  our  seats.  A  large  dish,  or  bowl, 
made  from  the  root  of  a  maple  tree,  and  which  we  had  purchased 
at  the  Indian  village,  was  placed  on  the  ground  before  us,  and 
into  it  were  emptied  the  contents  of  one  of  the  camp  kettles,  con 
sisting  of  a  wild  turkey  hashed,  together  with  slices  of  bacon  and 
lumps  of  dough.  Beside  it  was  placed  another  bowl  of  similar 
ware,  containing  an  ample  supply  of  fritters.  After  we  had  dis 
cussed  the  hash,  two  wooden  spits,  on  which  the  ribs  of  a  fat  buck 
were  broiling  before  the  fire,  were  removed  and  planted  in  the 
ground  before  us,  with  a  triumphant  air,  by  little  Tonish.  Hav 
ing  no  dishes,  we  had  to  proceed  in  hunters'  style,  cutting  off 
strips  and  slices  with  our  hunting-knives,  and  dipping  them  in 
salt  and  pepper.  To  do  justice  to  Tonish's  cookery,  however,  and 
to  the  keen  sauce  of  the  prairies,  never  have  I  tasted  venison  so 
delicious.  With  all  this,  our  beverage  was  coffee,  boiled  in  a 
camp  kettle,  sweetened  with  brown  sugar,  and  drunk  out  of  tin 
cups  :  and  such  was  the  style  of  our  banqueting  throughout  this 


A   TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  57 


expedition,  whenever  provisions  were  plenty,  and  as  long  as  flour 
and  coffee  and  sugar  held  out. 

As  the  twilight  thickened  into  night,  the  sentinels  were 
marched  forth  to  their  stations  around  the  camp ;  an  indispensa 
ble  precaution  in  a  country  infested  by  Indians.  The  encamp 
ment  now  presented  a  picturesque  appearance.  Camp  fires  were 
blazing  and  smouldering  here  and  there  among  the  trees,  with 
groups  of  rangers  round  them ;  some  seated  or  lying  on  the 
ground,  others  standing  in  the  ruddy  glare  of  the  flames,  or  in 
shadowy  relief.  At  some  of  the  fires  there  was  much  boisterous 
mirth,  where  peals  of  laughter  were  mingled  with  loud  ribald 
jokes  and  uncouth  exclamations ;  for  the  troop  was  evidently  a 
raw,  undisciplined  band,  levied  among  the  wild  youngsters  of  the 
frontier,  who  had  enlisted,  some  for  the  sake  of  roving  adventure, 
and  some  for  the  purpose  of  getting  a  knowledge  of  the  country. 
Many  of  them  were  the  neighbors  of  their  officers,  and  accustomed 
to  regard  them  with  the  familiarity  of  equals  and  companions. 
None  of  them  had  any  idea  of  the  restraint  and  decorum  of  a 
camp,  or  ambition  to  acquire  a  name  for  exactness  in  a  profession 
in  which  they  had  no  intention  of  continuing. 

While  this  boisterous  merriment  prevailed  at  some  of  the  fires, 
there  suddenly  rose  a  strain  of  nasal  melody  from  another,  at 
which  a  choir  of  "  vocalists  "  were  uniting  their  voices  in  a  most 
lugubrious  psalm  tune.  This  was  led  by  one  of  the  lieutenants  ; 
a  tall,  spare  man,  who  we  were  informed  had  officiated  as  school 
master,  singing-master,  and  occasionally  as  Methodist  preacher,  . 
in  one  of  the  villages  of  the  frontier.  The  chant  rose  solemnly 
and  sadly  in  the  night  air,  and  reminded  me  of  the  description 
of  similar  canticles  in  the  camps  of  the  Covenanters ;  and,  in 
deed,  the  strange  medley  of  figures  and  faces  and  uncouth  garbs, 

3* 


58  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


congregated  together  in  our  troop,  would  not  have  disgraced  the 
banners  of  Praise-God  Barebones. 

In  one  of  the  intervals  of  this  nasal  psalmody,  an  amateur 
owl,  as  if  in  competition,  began  his  dreary  hooting.  Immediately 
there  was  a  cry  throughout  the  camp  of  "  Charley's  owl !  Char 
ley's  owl !"  It  seems  this  "  obscure  bird  "  had  visited  the  camp 
every  night,  and  had  been  fired  at  by  one  of  the  sentinels,  a  half 
witted  lad,  named  Charley  ;  who,  on  being  called  up  for  firing 
when  on  duty,  excused  himself  by  saying,  that  he  understood 
that  owls  made  uncommonly  good  soup. 

One  of  the  young  rangers  mimicked  the  cry  of  this  bird  of 
wisdom,  who,  with  a  simplicity  little  consonant  with  his  charac 
ter,  came  hovering  within  sight,  and  alighted  on  the  naked  branch 
of  a  tree,  lit  up  by  the  blaze  of  our  fire.  The  young  Count  im 
mediately  seized  his  fowling-piece,  took  fatal  aim,  and  in  a  twink 
ling  the  poor  bird  of  ill  omen  came  fluttering  to  the  ground. 
Charley  was  now  called  upon  to  make  and  eat  his  dish  of  owl- 
soup,  but  declined,  as  he  had  not  shot  the  bird. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  I  paid  a  visit  to  the  Captain's 
fire.  It  was  composed  of  huge  trunks  of  trees,  and  of  sufficient 
magnitude  to  roast  a  buffalo  whole.  Here  were  a  number  of  the 
prime  hunters  and  leaders  of  the  camp,  some  sitting,  some  stand 
ing,  and  others  lying  on  skins  or  blankets  before  the  fire,  telling 
old  frontier  stories  about  hunting  and  Indian  warfare. 

As  the  night  advanced,  we  perceived  above  the  trees  to  the 
west,  a  ruddy  glow  flushing  up  the  sky. 

"  That  must  be  a  prairie  set  on  fire  by  the  Osage  hunters," 
said  the  Captain. 

"  It  is  at  the  Red  Fork,"  said  Beatte,  regarding  the  sky.  "  It 
seems  but  three  miles  distant,  yet  it  perhaps  is  twenty." 


A   TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  59 


About  half  past  eight  o'clock,  a  beautiful  pale  light  gradually 
sprang  up  in  the  east,  a  precursor  of  the  rising  moon.  Drawing 
oft'  from  the  Captain's  lodge,  I  now  prepared  for  the  night's  repose. 
I  had  determined  to  abandon  the  shelter  of  the  tent,  and  hence 
forth  to  bivouac  like  the  rangers.  A  bear-skin  spread  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree  was  my  bed,  with  a  pair  of  saddle-bags  for  a  pillow. 
"Wrapping  myself  in  blankets,  I  stretched  myself  on  this  hunter's 
couch,  and  soon  fell  into  a  sound  and  sweet  sleep,  from  which  I 
did  not  awake  until  the  bugle  sounded  at  daybreak. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

BREAKING   UP   OF   THE    ENCAMPMENT. PICTURESQUE   MARCH. GAME. 

CAMP  SCENES. TRIUMPH  OF   A  YOUNG    HUNTER. ILL    SUCCESS 

OF    OLD    HUNTERS. FOUL    MURDER    OF    A    POLECAT. 

(OcT.  14.)  At  the  signal-note  of  the  bugle,  the  sentinels  and 
patrols  marched  in  from  their  stations  around  the  camp  and  were 
dismissed.  The  rangers  were  roused  from  their  night's  repose, 
and  soon  a  bustling  scene  took  place.  While  some  cut  wood, 
made  fires,  and  prepared  the  morning's  meal,  others  struck  their 
foul-weather  shelters  of  blankets,  and  made  every  preparation 
for  departure ;  while  others  dashed  about,  through  brush  and 
brake,  catching  the  horses  and  leading  or  driving  them  into 
camp. 

During  all  this  bustle  the  forest  rang  with  whoops,  and 
shouts,  and  peals  of  laughter ;  when  all  had  breakfasted,  packed 
up  their  effects  and  camp  equipage,  and  loaded  the  pack-horses, 


CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


the  bugle  sounded  to  saddle  and  mount.  By  eight  o'clock  the 
whole  troop  set  off  in  a  long  straggling  line,  with  whoop  and  hal 
loo,  intermingled  with  many  an  oath  at  the  loitering  pack-horses, 
and  in  a  little  while  the  forest,  which  for  several  days  had  been 
the  scene  of  such  unwonted  bustle  and  uproar,  relapsed  into  its 
primeval  solitude  and  silence. 

It  was  a  bright  sunny  morning,  with  a  pure  transparent 
atmosphere  that  seemed  to  bathe  the  very  heart  with  gladness. 
Our  march  continued  parallel  to  the  Arkansas,  through  a  rich 
and  varied  country ;  sometimes  we  had  to  break  our  way  through 
alluvial  bottoms  matted  with  redundant  vegetation,  where  the 
gigantic  trees  were  entangled  with  grape-vines,  hanging  like 
cordage  from  their  branches ;  sometimes  we  coasted  along  slug 
gish  brooks,  whose  feebly-trickling  current  just  served  to  link 
together  a  succession  of  glassy  pools,  imbedded  like  mirrors  in 
the  quiet  bosom  of  the  forest,  reflecting  its  autumnal  foliage,  and 
patches  of  the  clear  blue  sky.  Sometimes  we  scrambled  up  broken 
and  rocky  hills,  from  the  summits  of  which  we  had  wide  views 
stretching  on  one  side  over  distant  prairies  diversified  by  groves 
and  forests,  and  on  the  other  ranging  along  a  line  of  blue  and 
shadowy  hills-  beyond  the  waters  of  the  Arkansas. 

The  appearance  of  our  troop  was  suited  to  the  country ; 
stretching  along  in  a  line  of  upwards  of  half  a  mile  in  length, 
winding  among  brakes  and  bushes,  and  up  and  down  the  defiles 
of  the"  hills  :  the  men  in  every  kind  of  uncouth  garb,  with  long 
rifles  on  their  shoulders,  and  mounted  on  horses  of  every  color. 
The  pack-horses,  too,  would  incessantly  wander  from  the  line  of 
march,  to  crop  the  surrounding  herbage,  and  were  banged  and 
beaten  back  by  Tonish  and  his  half-breed  compeers,  with  volleys 
of  mongrel  oaths.  Every  now  and  then  the  notes  of  the  bugle 


A  TOUR  ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  61 

from  the  head  of  the  column,  would  echo  through  the  woodlands 
and  along  the  hollow  glens,  summoning  up  stragglers,  and 
announcing  the  line  of  march.  The  whole  scene  reminded  me  of 
the  description  given  of  bands  of  buccaneers  penetrating  the 
wilds  of  South  America,  on  their  plundering  expeditions  against 
the  Spanish  settlements. 

At  one  time  we  passed  through  a  luxuriant  bottom  or 
meadow  bordered  by  thickets,  where  the  tall  grass  was  pressed 
down  into  numerous  "  deer  beds,"  where  those  animals  had 
couched  the  preceding  night.  Some  oak  trees  also  bore  signs  of 
having  been  clambered  by  bears,  in  quest  of  acorns,  the  marks  of 
their  claws  being  visible  in  the  bark. 

As  we  opened  a  glade  of  this  sheltered  meadow,  we  beheld 
several  deer  bounding  away  in  wild  affright,  until,  having  gained 
some  distance,  they  would  stop  and  gaze  back,  with  the  curiosity 
common  to  this  animal,  at  the  strange  intruders  into  their  soli 
tudes.  There  was  immediately  a  sharp  report  of  rifles  in  every 
direction,  from  the  young  huntsmen  of  the  troop,  but  they  were 
too  eager  to  aim  surely,  and  the  deer,  unharmed,  bounded  away 
into  the  depths  of  the  forest. 

In  the  course  of  our  inarch  we  struck  the  Arkansas,  but 
found  ourselves  still  below  the  Red  Fork,  and,  as  the  river  made 
deep  bends,  we  again  left  its  banks  and  continued  through  the 
woods  until  nearly  eight  o'clock,  when  we  encamped  in  a  beauti 
ful  basin  bordered  by  a  fine  stream,  and  shaded  by  clumps  of 
lofty  oaks. 

The  horses  were  now  hobbled,  that  is  to  say,  their  fore  legs 
were  fettered  with  cords  or  leathern  straps,  so  as  to  impede  their 
movements,  and  prevent  their  wandering  from  the  camp.  They 
were  then  turned  loose  to  graze.  A  number  of  rangers,  prime 


CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


hunters,  started  off  in  different  directions  in  search  of  game. 
There  was  no  whooping  nor  laughing  about  the  camp  as  in  the 
morning  ;  all  were  either  busy  about  the  fires  preparing  the 
evening's  repast,  or  reposing  upon  the  grass.  Shots  were  soon 
heard  in  various  directions.  After  a  time  a  huntsman  rode  into 
the  camp  with  the  carcass  of  a  fine  buck  hanging  across  his  horse. 
Shortly  afterwards  came  in  a  couple  of  stripling  hunters  on  foot, 
one  of  whom  bore  on  his  shoulders  the  body  of  a  doe.  He  was  evi 
dently  proud  of  his  spoil,  being  probably  one  of  his  first  achieve 
ments,  though  he  and  his  companion  were  much  bantered  by  their 
comrades,  as  young  beginners  who  hunted  in  partnership. 

Just  as  the  night  set  in,  there  was  a  great  shouting  at  one  end 
of  the  camp,  and  immediately  afterwards  a  body  of  young  rangers 
came  parading  round  the  various  fires,  bearing  one  of  their  com 
rades  in  triumph  on  their  shoulders.  He  had  shot  an  elk  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  and  it  was  the  first  animal  of  the  kind  that 
had  been  killed  on  this  expedition.  The  young  huntsman,  whose 
name  was  M'Lellan,  was  the  hero  of  the  camp  for  the  night,  and 
was  the  "father  of  the  feast"  into  the  bargain  ;  for  portions  of  his 
elk  were  seen  roasting  at  every  fire. 

The  other  hunters  returned  without  success.  The  captain 
had  observed  the  tracks  of  a  buffalo,  which  must  have  passed 
within  a  few  days,  and  had  tracked  a  bear  for  some  distance  until 
the  foot-prints  had  disappeared.  He  had  seen  an  elk  too,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Arkansas,  which  walked  out  on  a  sand-bar  of  the 
river,  but  before  he  could  steal  round  through  the  bushes  to  get 
a  shot,  it  had  re-entered  the  woods. 

Our  own  hunter,  Beatte,  returned  silent  and  sulky,  from  an 
unsuccessful  hunt.  As  yet  he  had  brought  us  in  nothing,  and 
we  had  depended  for  our  supplies  of  venison  upon  the  Captain's 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  63 


mess.  Beatte  was  evidently  mortified,  for  he  looked  down  with 
contempt  upon  the  rangers,  as  raw  and  inexperienced  woodsmen, 
but  little  skilled  in  hunting ;  they,  on  the  other  hand,  regarded 
Beatte  with  no  very  complacent  eye,  as  one  of  an  evil  breed,  and 
always  spoke  of  him  as  "  the  Indian." 

Our  little  Frenchman  Tonish  also,  by  his  incessant  boasting, 
and  chattering,  and  gasconading,  in  his  balderdashed  dialect, 
had  drawn  upon  himself  the  ridicule  of  many  of  the  wags  of  the 
troop,  who  amused  themselves  at  his  expense  in  a  kind  of  raillery 
by  no  means  remarkable  for  its  delicacy ;  but  the  little  varlet 
was  so  completely  fortified  by  vanity  and  self-conceit,  that  he 
was  invulnerable  to  every  joke.  I  must  confess,  however,  that 
I  felt  a  little  mortified  at  the  sorry  figure  our  retainers  were 
making  among  these  moss-troopers  of  the  frontier.  Even  our 
very  equipments  came  in  for  a  share  of  unpopularity,  and  I  heard 
many  sneers  at  the  double-barrelled  guns  with  which  we  were 
provided  against  smaller  game ;  the  lads  of  the  West  holding 
"shot-guns,"  as  they  call  them,  in  great  contempt,  thinking 
grouse,  partridges,  and  even  wild  turkeys  as  beneath  their  'seri 
ous  attention,  and  the  rifle  the  only  firearm  worthy  of  a  hunter. 

I  was  awakened  before  daybreak  the  next  morning,  by  the 
mournful  howling  of  a  wolf,  who  was  skulking  about  the  purlieus 
of  the  camp,  attracted  by  the  scent  of  venison.  Scarcely  had  the 
first  gray  streak  of  dawn  appeared,  when  a  youngster  at  one  of 
the  distant  lodges,  shaking  off  his  sleep,  crowed  in  imitation  of  a 
cock,  with  a  loud  clear  note  and  prolonged  cadence,  that  would 
have  done  credit  to  the  most  veteran  chanticleer.  He  was  imme 
diately  answered  from  another  quarter,  as  if  from  a  rival  rooster. 
The  chant  was  echoed  from  lodge  to  lodge,  and  followed  by  the 
cackling  of  hens,  quacking  of  ducks,  gabbling  of  turkeys,  and 


64  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


grunting  of  swine,  until  we  seemed  to  have  been  transported  into 
the  midst  of  a  farmyard,  with  all  its  inmates  in  full  concert 
around  us. 

After  riding  a  short  distance  this  morning,  we  came  upon  a 
well-worn  Indian  track,  and  following  it,  scrambled  to  the  sum 
mit  of  a  hill,  whence  we  had  a  wide  prospect  over  a  country 
diversified  by  rocky  ridges  and  waving  lines  of  upland,  and 
enriched  by  groves  and  clumps  of  trees  of  varied  tuft  and  foliage. 
At  a  distance  to  the  west,  to  our  great  satisfaction,  we  beheld  the 
Red  Fork  rolling  its  ruddy  current  to  the  Arkansas,  and  found 
that  we  were  above  the  point  of  junction.  "VVe  now  descended 
and  pushed  forward,  with  much  difficulty,  through  the  rich  allu 
vial  bottom  that  borders  the  Arkansas.  Here  the  trees  were 
interwoven  with  grape-vines,  forming  a  kind  of  cordage,  from 
trunk  to  trunk  and  limb  to  limb  ;  there  was  a  thick  under 
growth,  also,  of  bush  and  bramble,  and  such  an  abundance  of 
hops,  fit  for  gathering,  that  it  was  difficult  for  our  horses  to  force 
their  way  through. 

The  soil  was  imprinted  in  many  places  with  the  tracks  of  deer, 
and  the  claws  of  bears  were  to  be  traced  on  various  trees.  Every 
one  was  on  the  look-out  in  the  hope  of  starting  some  game,  when 
suddenly  there  was  a  bustle  and  a  clamor  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
line.  A  bear  !  a  bear  !  was  the  cry.  We  all  pressed  forward  to 
be  present  at  the  sport,  when  to  my  infinite,  though  whimsical 
chagrin,  I  found  it  to  be  our  two  worthies.  Beatte  and  Tonish, 
perpetrating  a  foul  murder  on  a  polecat,  or  skunk  !  The  animal 
had  ensconced  itself  beneath  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  whence 
it  kept  up  a  vigorous  defence  in  its  peculiar  style,  until  the  sur 
rounding  forest  was  in  a  high  state  of  fragrance. 

Gibes  and  jokes  now  broke  out  on  all  sides  at  the  expense  of 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  65 


the  Indian  hunter,  and  he  was  advised  to  wear  the  scalp  of  the 
skunk  as  the  only  trophy  of  his  prowess.  When  they  found, 
however,  that  he  and  Tonish  were  absolutely  bent  upon  bearing 
off  the  carcass  as  a  peculiar  dainty,  there  was  a  universal  expres 
sion  of  disgust ;  and  they  were  regarded  as  little  better  than 
cannibals. 

Mortified  at  this  ignominious  debut  of  our  two  hunters,  I 
insisted  upon  their  abandoning  their  prize  and  resuming  their 
inarch.  Beatte  complied  with  a  dogged,  discontented  air,  and 
lagged  behind  muttering  to  himself.  Tonish,  however,  with  his 
usual  buoyancy,  consoled  himself  by  vociferous  eulogies  on  the 
richness  and  delicacy  of  a  roasted  polecat,  which  he  swore  was 
considered  the  daintiest  of  dishes  by  all  experienced  Indian 
gourmands.  It  was  with  difficulty  I  could  silence  his  loquacity 
by  repeated  and  peremptory  commands.  A  Frenchman's  vivacity 
however,  if  repressed  in  one  way,  will  break  out  in  another,  and 
Tonish  now  eased  off  his  spleen  by  bestowing  volleys  of  oaths 
and  dry  blows  on  the  pack-horses.  I  was  likely  to  be  no  gainer 
in  the  end,  by  my  opposition  to  the  humors  of  these  varlets,  for 
after  a  time,  Beatte,  who  had  lagged  behind,  rode  up  to  the  head 
of  the  line  to  resume  his  station  as  a  guide,  and  I  had  the  vexa 
tion  to  see  the  carcass  of  his  prize,  stripped  of  its  skin,  and  look 
ing  like  a  fat  sucking  pig,  dangling  behind  his  saddle.  I  made 
a  solemn  vow,  however,  in  secret,  that  our  fire  should  not  be  dis 
graced  by  the  cooking  of  that  polecat. 


CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    CROSSING    OF    THE    ARKANSAS. 

WE  had  now  arrived  at  the  river,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  above 
the  junction  of  the  Red  Fork ;  but  the  banks  were  steep  and 
crumbling,  and  the  current  was  deep  and  rapid.  It  was  impossi 
ble,  therefore,  to  cross  at  this  place  ;  and  we  resumed  our  painful 
course  through  the  forest,  dispatching  Beatte  ahead,  in  search  of 
a  fording  place.  We  had  proceeded  about  a  mile  further,  when 
he  rejoined  us,  bringing  intelligence  of  a  place  hard  by,  where 
the  river,  for  a  great  part  of  its  breadth,  was  rendered  fordable 
by  sand-bars,  and  the  remainder  might  easily  be  swain  by  the 
horses. 

Here,  then,  we  made  a  halt.  Some  of  the  rangers  set  to 
work  vigorously  with  their  axes,  felling  trees  on  the  edge  of  the 
river,  wherewith  to  form  rafts  for  the  transportation  of  their 
baggage  and  camp  equipage.  Others  patrolled  the  banks  of  the 
river  farther  up,  in  hopes  of  finding  a  better  fording  place  ;  being 
unwilling  to  risk  their  horses  in  the  deep  channel. 

It  was  now  that  our  worthies,  Beatte  and  Tonish,  had  an 
opportunity  of  displaying  their  Indian  adroitness  and  resource. 
At  the  Osage  village  which  we  had  passed  a  day  or  two  before, 
they  had  procured  a  dry  buffalo  skin.  This  was  now  produced  ; 
cords  were  passed  through  a  number  of  small  eyelet  holes  with 
which  it  was  bordered,  and  it  was  drawn  up,  until  it  formed  a 
kind  of  deep  trough.  Sticks  were  then  placed  athwart  it  on  the 
inside,  to  keep  it  in  shape  ;  our  camp  equipage  and  a  part  of  our 
baggage  were  placed  within,  and  the  singular  bark  was  carried 


A  TOUR   ON   THE  PRAIRIES.  67 


down  the  bank  arid  set  afloat.  A  cord  was  attached  to  the  prow, 
which  Beatte  took  between  his  teeth,  and  throwing  himself  into 
the  water,  went  ahead,  towing  the  bark  after  him  ;  while  Tonish 
followed  behind,  to  keep  it  steady  and  to  propel  it.  Part  of  the 
way  they  had  foothold,  and  were  enabled  to  wade,  but  in  the 
main  current  they  were  obliged  to  swim.  The  whole  way,  they 
whooped  and  yelled  in  the  Indian  style,  until  they  landed  safely 
on  the  opposite  shore. 

The  Commissioner  and  myself  were  so  well  pleased  with  this 
Indian  mode  of  ferriage,  that  we  determined  to  trust  ourselves 
in  the  buffalo  hide.  Our  companions,  the  Count  and  Mr.  L.,  had 
proceeded  with  the  horses,  along  the  river  bank,  in  search  of  a 
ford  which  some  of  the  rangers  had  discovered,  about  a  mile  and 
a  half  distant.  While  we  were  waiting  for  the  return  of  our 
ferryman,  I  happened  to  cast  my  eyes  upon  a  heap  of  luggage 
under  a  bush,  and  descried  the  sleek  carcass  of  the  polecat, 
snugly  trussed  up,  and  ready  for  roasting  before  the  evening  fire. 
I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  plump  it  into  the  river,  when 
it  sunk  to  the  bottom  like  a  lump  of  lead  ;  and  thus  our  lodge 
was  relieved  from  the  bad  odor  which  this  savory  viand  had 
threatened  to  bring  upon  it. 

Our  men  having  recrossed  with  their  cockle-shell  bark,  it  was 
drawn  on  shore,  half  filled  with  saddles,  saddlebags,  and  other 
luggage,  amounting  to  a  hundred  weight ;  and  being  again  placed 
in  the  water,  I  was  invited  to  take  my  seat.  It  appeared  to  me 
pretty  much  like  the  embarkation  of  the  wise  men  of  Gotham, 
who  went  to  sea  in  a  bowl :  I  stepped  in,  however,  without  hesi 
tation,  though  as  cautiously  as  possible,  and  sat  down  on  top  of 
the  luggage,  the  margin  of  the  hide  sinking  to  within  a  hand's 
breadth  of  the  water's  edge.  Rifles,  fowling-pieces,  and  other 


68  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


articles  of  small  bulk,  were  then  handed  in,  until  I  protested 
against  receiving  any  more  freight.  We  then  launched  forth 
upon  the  stream,  the  bark  being  towed  as  before. 

It  was  with  a  sensation  half  serious,  half  comic,  that  I  found 
myself  thus  afloat,  on  the  skin  of  a  buffalo,  in  the  midst  of  a  wild 
river,  surrounded  by  wilderness,  and  towed  along  by  a  half  savage, 
whooping  and  yelling  like  a  devil  incarnate.  To  please  the  va 
nity  of  little  Tonish,  I  discharged  the  double-barrelled  gun,  to 
the  right  and  left,  when  in  the  centre  of  the  stream.  The  report 
echoed  along  the  woody  shores,  and  was  answered  by  shouts  from 
some  of  the  rangers,  to  the  great  exultation  of  the  little  French 
man,  who  took  to  himself  the  whole  glory  of  this  Indian  mode  of 
navigation. 

Our  voyage  was  accomplished  happily  ;  the  Commissioner 
was  ferried  across  with  equal  success,  and  all  our  effects  were 
brought  over  in  the  same  manner.  Nothing  could  equal  the 
vainglorious  vaporing  of  little  Tonish,  as  he  strutted  about  the 
shore,  and  exulted  in  his  superior  skill  and  knowledge,  to  the 
rangers.  Beatte,  however,  kept  his  proud,  saturnine  look,  with 
out  a  smile.  He  had  a  vast  contempt  for  the  ignorance  of  the 
rangers,  and  felt  that  he  had  been  undervalued  by  them.  His 
only  observation  was,  "  Dey  now  see  de  Indian  good  for  some- 
ting,  anyhow  !" 

The  broad,  sandy  shore  where  we  had  landed,  was  intersected 
by  innumerable  tracks  of  elk,  deer,  bears,  racoons,  turkeys,  and 
water-fowl.  The  river  scenery  at  this  place  was  beautifully  di 
versified,  presenting  long,  shining  reaches,  bordered  by  willows 
and  cotton-wood  trees  ;  rich  bottoms,  with  lofty  forests  ;  among 
which  towered  enormous  plane  trees,  and  the  distance  was  closed 
in  by  high  embowered  promontories.  The  foliage  had  a  yellow 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  69 


autumnal  tint,  which  gave  to  the  sunny  landscape  the  golden  tone 
of  one  of  the  landscapes  of  Claude  Lorraine.  There  was  anima 
tion  given  to  the  scene,  by  a  raft  of  logs  and  branches,  on  which 
the  Captain  and  his  prime  companion,  the  Doctor,  were  ferrying 
their  effects  across  the  stream  ;  and  by  a  long  line  of  rangers  on 
horseback,  fording  the  river  obliquely,  along  a  series  of  sand-bars, 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  distant. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
THE  CAMP  OF  THE  GLEN. 

CAMP    GOSSIP. PAWNEES    AND    THEIR    HABITS. A    HUNTER7 S    ADVEN 
TURE. HORSES  FOUND,  AND  MEN  LOST. 

BEING  joined  by  the  Captain  and  some  of  the  rangers,  we  struck 
into  the  woods  for  about  half  a  mile,  and  then  entered  a  wild, 
rocky  dell,  bordered  by  two  lofty  ridges  of  limestone,  which  nar 
rowed  as  we  advanced,  until  they  met  and  united  ;  making  almost 
an  angle.  Here  a  fine  spring  of  water  rose  among  the  rocks, 
and  fed  a  silver  rill  that  ran  the  whole  length  of  the  dell,  fresh 
ening  the  grass  with  which  it  was  carpeted. 

In  this  rocky  nook  we  encamped,  among  tall  trees.  The  ran 
gers  gradually  joined  us,  straggling  through  the  forest  singly  or 
in  groups  ;  some  on  horseback,  some  on  foot,  driving  their  horses 
before  them,  heavily  laden  with  baggage,  some  dripping  wet,  hav 
ing  fallen  into  the  river  ;  for  they  had  experienced  much  fatigue 
and  trouble  from  the  length  of  the  ford,  and  the  depth  and  rapi 
dity  of  the  stream.  They  looked  not  unlike  banditti  returning 


70  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


with  their  plunder,  and  the  wild  dell  was  a  retreat  worthy  to  re 
ceive  them.  The  effect  was  heightened  after  dark,  when  the  light 
of  the  fires  was  cast  upon  rugged  looking  groups  of  men  and 
horses  ;  with  baggage  tumbled  in  heaps,  rifles  piled  against  the 
trees,  and  saddles,  bridles,  and  powder-horns  hanging  about  their 
trunks. 

At  the  encampment  we  were  joined  by  the  young  Count  and 
his  companion,  and  the  young  half-breed,  Antoine,  who  had  all 
passed  successfully  by  the  ford.  To  my  annoyance,  however,  I 
discovered  that  both  of  my  horses  were  missing.  I  had  supposed 
them  in  the  charge  of  Antoine  :  but  he,  with  characteristic  care 
lessness,  had  paid  no  heed  to  them,  and  they  had  probably  wan 
dered  from  the  line  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river.  It  was 
arranged  that  Beatte  and  Antoine  should  recross  the  river  at  an 
early  hour  of  the  morning,  in  search  of  them. 

A  fat  buck,  and  a  number  of  wild  turkeys  being  brought  into 
the  camp,  we  managed,  with  the  addition  of  a  cup  of  coffee,  to  make 
a  comfortable  supper  ;  after  which,  I  repaired  to  the  Captain's 
lodge,  which  was  a  kind  of  council  fire  and  gossiping  place  for 
the  veterans  of  the  camp. 

As  we  were  conversing  together,  we  observed,  as  on  former 
nights,  a  dusky,  red  glow  in  the  west,  above  the  summits  of  the 
surrounding  cliffs.  It  was  again  attributed  to  Indian  fires  on 
the  prairies  ;  and  supposed  to  be  on  the  western  side  of  the 
Arkansas.  If  so,  it  was  thought  they  must  be  made  by  some 
party  of  Pawnees,  as  the  Osage  hunters  seldom  ventured  in  that 
quarter.  Our  half-breeds,  however,  pronounced  them  Osage 
fires  ;  and  that  they  were  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Arkansas. 

The  conversation  now  turned  upon  the  Pawnees,  into  whose 
hunting  grounds  we  were  about  entering.  There  is  always  some 


A   TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  71 


wild  untamed  tribe  of  Indians,  who  form,  for  a  time,  the  terror 
of  a  frontier,  and  about  whom  all  kinds  of  fearful  stories  are 
told.  Such,  at  present,  was  the  case  with  the  Pawnees,  who  rove 
the  regions  between  the  Arkansas  and  the  Red  River,  and  the 
prairies  of  Texas.  They  were  represented  as  admirable  horse 
men,  and  always  on  horseback  ;  mounted  on  fleet  and  hardy 
steeds,  the  wild  race  of  the  prairies.  With  these  they  roam  the 
great  plains  that  extend  about  the  Arkansas,  the  Red  River, 
and  through  Texas,  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  ;  sometimes  en 
gaged  in  hunting  the  deer  and  buffalo,  sometimes  in  warlike 
and  predatory  expeditions  ;  for,  like  their  counterparts,  the  sons 
of  Ishinael,  their  hand  is  against  every  one,  and  every  one's 
hand  against  them.  Some  of  them  have  no  fixed  habitation, 
but  dwell  in  tents  of  skins,  easily  packed  up  and  transported, 
so  that  they  are  here  to-day,  and  away,  no  one  knows  where, 
to-morrow. 

One  of  the  veteran  hunters  gave  several  anecdotes  of  their 
mode  of  fighting.  Luckless,  according  to  his  account,  is  the 
band  of  weary  traders  or  hunters  descried  by  them,  in  the  midst 
of  a  prairie.  Sometimes,  they  will  steal  upon  them  by  stratagem, 
hanging  with  one  leg  over  the  saddle,  and  their  bodies  concealed  ; 
so  that  their  troop  at  a  distance  has  the  appearance  of  a  gang  of 
wild  horses.  When  they  have  thus  gained  sufficiently  upon  the 
enemy,  they  will  suddenly  raise  themselves  in  their  saddles,  and 
come  like  a  rushing  blast,  all  fluttering  with  feathers,  shaking 
their  mantles,  brandishing  their  weapons,  and  making  hideous 
yells.  In  this  way,  they  seek  to  strike  a  panic  into  the  horses, 
and  put  them  to  the  scamper,  when  they  will  pursue  and  carry 
them  off  in  triumph. 

The  best  mode  of  defence,  according  to  this  veteran  woods- 


72  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


man,  is  to  get  into  the  covert  of  some  wood,  or  thicket ;  or  if 
there  be  none  at  hand,  to  dismount,  tie  the  horses  firmly  head  to 
head  in  a  circle,  so  that  they  cannot  break  away  and  scatter,  and 
resort  to  the  shelter  of  a  ravine,  or  make  a  hollow  in  the  sand, 
where  they  may  be  screened  from  the  shafts  of  the  Pawnees. 
The  latter  chiefly  use  the  bow  and  arrow,  and  are  dexterous 
archers  ;  circling  round  and  round  their  enemy,  and  launching 
their  arrows  when  at  full  speed.  They  are  chiefly  formidable  on 
the  prairies,  where  they  have  free  career  for  their  horses,  and  no 
trees  to  turn  aside  their  arrows.  They  will  rarely  follow  a  flying 
enemy  into  the  forest. 

Several  anecdotes,  also,  were  given,  of  the  secrecy  and  caution 
with  which  they  will  follow,  and  hang  about  the  camp  of  an 
enemy,  seeking  a  favorable  moment  for  plunder  or  attack. 

"  We  must  now  begin  to  keep  a  sharp  look-out,"  said  the 
Captain.  "  I  must  issue  written  orders,  that  no  man  shall  hunt 
without  leave,  or  fire  off  a  gun,  on  pain  of  riding  a  wooden  horse 
with  a  sharp  back.  I  have  a  wild  crew  of  young  fellows,  unac 
customed  to  frontier  service.  It  will  be  difficult  to  teach  them 
caution.  We  are  now  in  the  land  of  a  silent,  watchful,  crafty 
people,  who,  when  we  least  suspect  it,  may  be  around  us,  spying 
out  all  our  movements,  and  ready  to  pounce  upon  all  stragglers." 

"  How  will  you  be  able  to  keep  your  men  from  firing,  if  they 
see  game  while  strolling  round  the  camp?"  asked  one  of  the 
rangers. 

"  They  must  not  take  their  guns  with  them  unless  they  are 
on  duty,  or  have  permission." 

"  Ah,  Captain  !"  cried  the  ranger,  "  that  will  never  do  for 
me.  Where  I  go,  my  rifle  goes.  I  never  like  to  leave  it  behind  ; 
it's  like  a  part  of  myself.  There's  no  one  will  take  such  care  of 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  73 


it  as  I.  and  there's  nothing  will  take   such  care   of  me  as  my 
rifle." 

"  There's  truth  in  all  that,"  said  the  Captain,  touched  by  a 
true  hunter's  sympathy.  "  I've  had  my  rifle  pretty  nigh  as  long 
as  I  have  had  my  wife,  and  a  faithful  friend  it  has  been  to  me." 

Here  the  Doctor,  who  is  as  keen  a  hunter  as  the  Captain^  join 
ed  in  the  conversation:  "  A  neighbor  of  mine  says,  next  to  my 
rifle,  I'd  as  leave  lend  you  my  wife." 

"  There's  few,"  observed  the  Captain,  "  that  take  care  of  their 
rifles  as  they  ought  to  be  taken  care  of." 

"  Or  of  their  wives  either,"  replied  the  Doctor,  with  a  wink. 

"  That's  a  fact,"  rejoined  the  Captain. 

Word  was  now  brought  that  a  party  of  four  rangers,  headed 
by  "  Old  Ryan,"  were  missing.  They  had  separated'  from  the 
main  body,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  when  searching  for 
a  ford,  and  had  straggled  off,  nobody  knew  whither.  Many  con 
jectures  were  made  about  them,  and  some  apprehensions  ex 
pressed  for  their  safety. 

"  I  should  send  to  look  after  them,"  said  the  Captain,  "  but 
old  Ryan  is  with  them,  and  he  knows  how  to  take  care  of  him 
self  and  of  them  too.  If  it  were  not  for  him,  I  would  not  give 
much  for  the  rest ;  but  he  is  as  much  at  home  in  the  woods  or 
on  a  prairie,  as  he  would  be  in  his  own  farmyard.  He's  never 
lost,  wherever  he  is.  There's  a  good  gang  of  them  to  stand  by 
one  another  ;  four  to  watch  and  one  to  take  care  of  the  fire." 

"  It's  a  dismal  thing  to  get  lost  at  night  in  a  strange  and 
wild  country."  said  one  of  the  younger  rangers. 

"  Not  if  you  have  one  or  two  in  company,"  said  an  older  one. 
"  For  my  part,  I  could  feel  as  cheerful  in  this  hollow  as  in  my 
own  home,  if  I  had  but  one  comrade  to  take  turns  to  watch  and 

4 


74  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


keep  the  fire  going.  I  could  lie  here  for  hours,  and  gaze  up  to 
that  blazing  star  there,  that  seems  to  look  down  into  the  camp 
as  if  it  were  keeping  guard  over  it." 

"  Aye,  the  stars  are  a  kind  of  company  to  one,  when  you 
have  to  keep  watch  alone.  That's  a  cheerful  star,  too,  somehow ; 
that's  the  evening  star,  the  planet  Venus  they  call  it,  I  think." 

"  If  that's  the  planet  Venus,"  said  one  of  the  council,  who,  I 
believe,  was  the  psalm-singing  schoolmaster,  "  it  bodes  us  no 
good ;  for  I  recollect  reading  in  some  book  that  the  Pawnees 
worship  that  star,  and  sacrifice  their  prisoners  to  it.  So  I  should 
not  feel  the  better  for  the  sight  of  that  star  in  this  part  of  the 
country." 

"  Well,"  said  the  sergeant,  a  thorough-bred  woodsman,  "  star 
or  no  star,  I  have  passed  many  a  night  alone  in  a  wilder  place 
than  this,  and  slept  sound  too,  I'll  warrant  you.  Once,  however, 
I  had  rather  an  uneasy  time  of  it.  I  was  belated  in  passing 
through  a  tract  of  wood,  near  the  Tombigbee  River  ;  so  I  struck 
a  light,  made  a  fire,  and  turned  my  horse  loose,  while  I  stretched 
myself  to  sleep.  By  and  by,  I  heard  the  wolves  howl  My 
horse  came  crowding  near  me  for  protection,  for  he  was  terribly 
frightened.  I  drove  him  off,  but  he  returned,  and  drew  nearer 
and  nearer,  and  stood  looking  at  me  and  at  the  fire,  and  dozing, 
and  nodding,  and  tottering  on  his  fore  feet,  for  he  was  powerful 
tired.  After  a  while,  I  heard  a  strange  dismal  cry.  I  thought 
at  first  it  might  be  an  owl.  I  heard  it  again,  and  then  I  knew  it 
was  not  an  owl,  but  must  be  a  panther.  I  felt  rather  awkward, 
for  I  had  no  weapon  but  a  double-bladed  penknife.  I  however 
prepared  for  defence  in  the  best  way  I  could,  and  piled  up  small 
brands  from  the  fire,  to  pepper  him  with,  should  he  come  nigh. 
The  company  of  my  horse  now  seemed  a  comfort  to  me  5  the 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  75 


poor  creature  laid  down  beside  me  and  soon  fell  asleep,  being  so 
tired.  I  kept  watch,  and  nodded  and  dozed,  and  started  awake, 
and  looked  round,  expecting  to  see  the  glaring  eyes  of  the  pan 
ther  close  upon  me  ;  but  somehow  or  other,  fatigue  got  the  better 
of  me,  and  I  fell  asleep  outright.  In  the  morning  I  found  the 
tracks  of  a  panther  within  sixty  paces.  They  were  as  large  as 
my  two  fists.  He  had  evidently  been  walking  backwards  and 
forwards,  trying  to  make  up  his  mind  to  attack  me  ;  but  luckily, 
he  had  not  courage." 

Oct.  16.  I  awoke  before  daybreak.  The  moon  was  shining 
feebly  down  into  the  glen,  from  among  light  drifting  clouds  ; 
the  camp  fires  were  nearly  burnt  out,  and  the  men  lying  about 
them,  wrapped  in  blankets.  With  the  first  streak  of  day,  our 
huntsman,  Beatte,  with  Antoine,  the  young  half-breed,  set  off  to 
recross  the  river,  in  search  of  the  stray  horses,  in  company  with 
several  rangers  who  had  left  their  rifles  on  the  opposite  shore. 
As  the  ford  was  deep,  and  they  were  obliged  to  cross  in  a  dia 
gonal  line,  against  a  rapid  current,  they  had  to  be  mounted  on 
the  tallest  and  strongest  horses. 

By  eight  o'clock,  Beatte  returned.  He  had  found  the  horses, 
but  had  lost  Antoine.  The  latter,  he  said,  was  a  boy,  a  green 
horn,  that  knew  nothing  of  the  woods.  He  had  wandered  out 
of  sight  of  him,  and  got  lost.  However,  there  were  plenty  more 
for  him  to  fall  in  company  with,  as  some  of  the  rangers  had  gone 
astray  also,  and  old  Ryan  and  his  party  had  not  returned. 

We  waited  until  the  morning  was  somewhat  advanced,  in 
hopes  of  being  rejoined  by  the  stragglers,  but  they  did  not  make 
their  appearance.  The  Captain  observed,  that  the  Indians  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  were  all  well  disposed  to  the 
whites  ;  so  that  no  serious  apprehensions  need  be  entertained  for 


76  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


the  safety  of  the  missing.  The  greatest  danger  was,  that  their 
horses  might  be  stolen  in  the  night  by  straggling  Osages.  He 
determined,  therefore,  to  proceed,  leaving  a  rear-guard  in  the 
camp,  to  await  their  arrival. 

I  sat  on  a  rock  that  overhung  the  spring  at  the  upper  part  of 
the  dell,  and  amused  myself  by  watching  the  changing  scene 
before  me.  First,  the  preparations  for  departure.  Horses 
driven  in  from  the  purlieus  of  the  camp ;  rangers  riding  about 
among  rocks  and  bushes  in  quest  of  others  that  had  strayed  to  a 
distance  ;  the  bustle  of  packing  up  camp  equipage,  and  the  clamor 
after  kettles  and  frying-pans  borrowed  by  one  mess  from  another, 
mixed  up  with  oaths  and  exclamations  at  restive  horses,  or  others 
that  had  wandered  away  to  graze  after  being  packed:  among 
which  the  voice  of  our  little  Frenchman,  Tonish,  was  particularly 
to  be  distinguished. 

The  bugle  sounded  the  signal  to  mount  and  march.  The 
troop  filed  off  in  irregular  line  down  the  glen,  and  through  the 
open  forest,  winding  and  gradually  disappearing  among  the  trees, 
though  the  clamor  of  voices  and  the  notes  of  the  bugle  could  be 
heard  for  some  time  afterwards.  The  rear-guard  remained  under 
the  trees  in  the  lower  part  of  the  dell,  some  on  horseback,  with 
their  rifles  on  their  shoulders ;  others  seated  by  the  fire  or  lying 
on  the  ground,  gossiping  in  a  low,  lazy  tone  of  voice,  their  horses 
unsaddled,  standing  and  dozing  around  :  while  one  of  the  rangers, 
profiting  by  this  interval  of  leisure,  was  shaving  himself  before  a 
pocket  mirror  stuck  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 

The  clamor  of  voices  and  the  notes  of  the  bugle  at  length  died 
away,  and  the  glen  relapsed  into  quiet  and  silence,  broken  occa 
sionally  by  the  low  murmuring  tone  of  the  group  around  the  fire, 
or  the  pensive  whistle  of  some  laggard  among  the  trees :  or  the 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  77 


rustling  of  the  yellow  leaves,  which  the  lightest  breath  of  air 
brought  down  in  wavering  showers,  a  sign  of  the  departing  glo 
ries  of  the  year. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

DEER-SHOOTING. LIFE   ON   THE  PRAIRIES. BEAUTIFUL  ENCAMPMENT. 

— HUNTER'S  LUCK. — ANECDOTES  OF  THE  DELA WARES  AND  THEIR 
SUPERSTITIONS. 

HAVING  passed  through  the  skirt  of  woodland  bordering  the 
river,  we  ascended  the  hills,  taking  a  westerly  course  through  an 
undulating  country  of  "  oak  openings,"  where  the  eye  stretched 
over  wide  tracts  of  hill  and  dale,  diversified  by  forests,  groves, 
and  clumps  of  trees.  As  we  were  proceeding  at  a  slow  pace, 
those  who  were  at  the  head  of  the  line  descried  four  deer  grazing 
on  a  grassy  slope  about  half  a  mile  distant.  They  apparently  had 
not  perceived  our  approach,  and  continued  to  graze  in  perfect 
tranquillity.  A  young  ranger  obtained  permission  from  the  Cap 
tain  to  go  in  pursuit  of  them,  and  the  troop  halted  in  lengthened 
line,  watching  him  in  silence.  Walking  his  horse  slowly  and 
cautiously,  he  made  a  circuit  until  a  screen  of  wood  intervened 
between  him  and  the  deer.  Dismounting  then,  he  left  his  horse 
among  the  trees,  and  creeping  round  a  knoll,  was  hidden  from 
our  view.  We  now  kept  our  eyes  intently  fixed  on  the  deer, 
which  continued  grazing,  unconscious  of  their  danger.  Presently 
there  was  the  sharp  report  of  a  rifle  ;  a  fine  buck  made  a  convul 
sive  bound  and  fell  to  the  earth ;  his  companions  scampered  off. 
Immediately  our  whole  line  of  march  was  broken ;  there  was  a 


78  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


helter-skelter  galloping  of  the  youngsters  of  the  troop,  eager  to 
get  a  shot  at  the  fugitives ;  and  one  of  the  most  conspicuous 
personages  in  the  chase  was  our  little  Frenchman  Tonish  on  his 
silver-gray ;  having  abandoned  his  pack-horses  at  the  first  sight 
of  the  deer.  It  was  some  time  before  our  scattered  forces  could 
be  recalled  by  the  bugle,  and  our  march  resumed. 

Two  or  three  times  in  the  course  of  the  day  we  were  inter 
rupted  by  hurry-scurry  scenes  of  the  kind.  The  young  men  of 
the  troop  were  full  of  excitement  on  entering  an  unexplored 
country  abounding  in  game,  and  they  were  too  little  accustomed 
to  discipline  or  restraint  to  be  kept  in  order.  No  one,  however, 
was  more  unmanageable  than  Tonish.  Having  an  intense  conceit 
of  his  skill  as  a  hunter,  and  an  irrepressible  passion  for  display, 
he  was  continually  sallying  forth,  like  an  ill-broken  hound,  when 
ever  any  game  was  started,  and  had  as  often  to  be  whipped  back. 

At  length  his  curiosity  got  a  salutary  check.  A  fat  doc 
came  bounding  along  in  full  view  of  the  whole  line.  Tonish  dis 
mounted,  levelled  his  rifle,  and  had  a  fair  shot.  The  doe  kept 
on.  He  sprang  upon  his  horse,  stood  up  on  the  saddle  like  a 
posture-master,  and  continued  gazing  after  the  animal  as  if  cer 
tain  to  see  it  fall.  The  doe,  however,  kept  on  its  way  rejoicing ; 
a  laugh  broke  out  along  the  line,  the  little  Frenchman  slipped 
quietly  into  his  saddle,  began  to  belabor  and  blaspheme  the  wan 
dering  pack-horses,  as  if  they  had  been  to  blame,  and  for  some 
time  we  were  relieved  from  his  vaunting  and  vaporing. 

In  one  place  of  our  march  we  came  to  the  remains  of  an  old 
Indian  encampment,  on  the  banks  of  a  fine  stream,  with  the  moss- 
grown  skulls  of  deer  lying  here  and  there  about  it.  As  we  were 
in  the  Pawnee  country,  it  was  supposed,  of  course,  to  have  been 
a  camp  of  those  formidable  rovers ;  the  Doctor,  however,  after 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  79 


considering  the  shape  and  disposition  of  the  lodges,  pronounced 
it  the  camp  of  some  bold  Delawares,  who  had  probably  made 
a  brief  and  dashing  excursion  into  these  dangerous  hunting 
grounds. 

Having  proceeded  some  distance  further,  we  observed  a 
couple  of  figures  on  horseback,  slowly  moving  parallel  to  us 
along  the  edge  of  a  naked  hill  about  two  miles  distant ;  and 
apparently  reconnoitring  us.  There  was  a  halt,  and  much  gazing 
and  conjecturing.  Were  they  Indians  ?  If  Indians,  were  they 
Pawnees  ?  There  is  something  exciting  to  the  imagination  and 
stirring  to  the  feelings,  while  traversing  these  hostile  plains, 
in  seeing  a  horseman  prowling  along  the  horizon.  It  is  like 
descrying  a  sail  at  sea  in  time  of  war,  when  it  may  be  either  a 
privateer  or  a  pirate.  Our  conjectures  were  soon  set  at  rest  by 
reconnoitring  the  two  horsemen  through  a  small  spy-glass,  when 
they  proved  to  be  two  of  the  men  we  had  left  at  the  camp,  who 
had  set  out  to  rejoin  us,  and  had  wandered  from  the  track. 

Our  march  this  day  was  animating  and  delightful.  We  were 
in  a  region  of  adventure ;  breaking  our  way  through  a  country 
hitherto  untrodden  by  white  men,  excepting  perchance  by  some 
solitary  trapper.  The  weather  was  in  its  perfection,  temperate, 
genial  and  enlivening ;  a  deep  blue  sky  with  a  few  light  feathery 
clouds,  an  atmosphere  of  perfect  transparency,  an  air  pure  and 
bland,  and  a  glorious  country  spreading  out  far  and  wide  in  the 
golden  sunshine  of  an  autumnal  day  ;  but  all  silent,  lifeless, 
without  a  human  habitation,  and  apparently  without  a  human 
inhabitant !  It  was  as  if  a  ban  hung  over  this  fair  but  fated 
region.  The  very  Indians  dared  not  abide  here,  but  made  it  a 
mere  scene  of  perilous  enterprise,  to  hunt  for  a  few  days,  and 
then  away. 


80  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


After  a  march  of  about  fifteen  miles  west  we  encamped  in  a 
beautiful  peninsula,  made  by  the  windings  and  doublings  of  a 
deep,  clear,  and  almost  motionless  brook,  and  covered  by  an  open 
grove  of  lofty  and  magnificent  trees.  Several  hunters  immedi 
ately  started  forth  in  quest  of  game  before  the  noise  of  the  camp 
should  frighten  it  from  the  vicinity.  Our  man,  Beatte,  also 
took  his  rifle  and  went  forth  alone,  in  a  different  course  from 
the  rest. 

For  my  own  part,  I  laid  on  the  grass  under  the  trees,  and 
built  castles  in  the  clouds,  and  indulged  in  the  very  luxury  of 
rural  repose.  Indeed  I  can  scarcely  conceive  a  kind  of  life  more 
calculated  to  put  both  mind  and  body  in  a  healthful  tone.  A 
morning's  ride  of  several  hours  diversified  by  hunting  incidents  ; 
an  encampment  in  the  afternoon  under  some  noble  grove  on  the 
borders  of  a  stream  ;  an  evening  banquet  of  venison,  fresh  killed, 
roasted,  or  broiled  on  the  coals ;  turkeys  just  from  the  thickets 
and  wild  honey  from  the  trees :  and  all  relished  with  an  appetite 
unknown  to  the  gourmets  of  the  cities.  And  at  night — such 
sweet  sleeping  in  the  open  air,  or  waking  and  gazing  at  the  moon 
and  stars,  shining  between  the  trees  ! 

On  the  present  occasion,  however,  we  had  not  much  reason  to 
boast  of  our  larder.  But  one  deer  had  been  killed  during  the 
day,  and  none  of  that  had  reached  our  lodge.  "We  were  fain, 
therefore,  to  stay  our  keen  appetites  by  some  scraps  of  turkey 
brought  from  the  last  encampment,  eked  out  with  a  slice  or  two 
of  salt  pork.  This  scarcity,  however,  did  not  continue  long. 
Before  dark  a  young  hunter  returned  well  laden  with  spoil.  He 
had  shot  a  deer,  cut  it  up  in  an  artist-like  style,  and,  putting 
the  meat  in  a  kind  of  sack  made  of  the  hide,  had  slung  it  across 
his  shoulder  and  trudged  with  it  to  camp. 


A  TOUR   ON   THE  PRAIRIES.  81 


Not  long  after,  Beatte  made  his  appearance  with  a  fat  doe 
across  his  horse.  It  was  the  first  game  he  had  brought  in,  and  I 
was  glad  to  see  him  with  a  trophy  that  might  efface  the  memory 
of  the  polecat.  He  laid  the  carcass  down  by  our  fire  without 
saying  a  word,  and  then  turned  to  unsaddle  his  horse ;  nor  could 
any  questions  from  us  about  his  hunting  draw  from  him  more 
than  laconic  replies.  If  Beatte,  however,  observed  this  Indian 
taciturnity  about  what  he  had  done,  Tonish  made  up  for  it  by 
boasting  of  what  he  meant  to  do.  Now  that  we  were  in  a  good 
hunting  country  he  meant  to  take  the  field,  and,  if  we  would  take 
his  word  for  it,  our  lodge  would  henceforth  be  overwhelmed  with 
game.  Luckily  his  talking  did  not  prevent  his  working,  the  doe 
was  skilfully  dissected,  several  fat  ribs  roasted  before  the  fire, 
the  coffee  kettle  replenished,  and  in  a  little  while  we  were  enabled 
to  indemnify  ourselves  luxuriously  for  our  late  meagre  repast. 

The  Captain  did  not  return  until  late,  and  he  returned  empty 
handed.  He  had  been  in  pursuit  of  his  usual  game,  the  deer, 
when  he  came  upon  the  tracks  of  a  gang  of  about  sixty  elk. 
Having  never  killed  an  animal  of  the  kind,  and  the  elk  being  at 
this  moment  an  object  of  ambition  among  all  the  veteran  hunters 
of  the  camp,  he  abandoned  his  pursuit  of  the  deer,  and  followed 
the  newly-discovered  track.  After  some  time  he  came  in  sight  of 
the  elk,  and  had  several  fair  chances  of  a  shot,  but  was  anxious  to 
bring  down  a  large  buck  which  kept  in  the  advance.  Finding  at 
length  there  was  danger  of  the  whole  gang  escaping  him,  he  fired 
at  a  doe.  The  shot  took  effect,  but  the  animal  had  sufficient 
strength  to  keep  on  for  a  time  with  its  companions.  From  the 
tracks  of  blood  he  felt  confident  it  was  mortally  wounded,  but 
evening  came  on,  he  could  not  keep  the  trail,  and  had  to  give  up 

the  search  until  morning. 

4* 


82  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


Old  Ryan  and  his  little  band  had  not  yet  rejoined  us,  neither 
had  our  young  half-breed  Antoine  made  his  appearance.  It  was 
determined,  therefore,  to  remain  at  our  encampment  for  the  fol 
lowing  day,  to  give  time  for  all  stragglers  to  arrive. 

The  conversation  this  evening,  among  the  old  huntsmen, 
turned  upon  the  Delaware  tribe,  one  of  whose  encampments  we 
had  passed  in  the  course  of  the  day ;  and  anecdotes  were  given 
of  their  prowess  in  war  and  dexterity  in  hunting.  They  used  to 
be  deadly  foes  of  the  Osages,  who  stood  in  great  awe  of  their 
desperate  valor,  though  they  were  apt  to  attribute  it  to  a  whimsi 
cal  cause.  "  Look  at  the  Delawares,"  would  they  say,  "  dey  got 
short  leg — no  can  run — must  stand  and  fight  a  great  heap."  In 
fact  the  Delawares  are  rather  short  legged,  while  the  Osages  are 
remarkable  for  length  of  limb. 

The  expeditions  of  the  Delawares,  whether  of  war  or  hunting, 
are  wide  and  fearless ;  a  small  band  of  them  will  penetrate  far 
into  these  dangerous  and  hostile  wilds,  and  will  push  their  en 
campments  even  to  the  Rocky  Mountains.  This  daring  temper 
may  be  in  some  measure  encouraged  by  one  of  the  superstitions 
of  their  creed.  They  believe  that  a  guardian  spirit,  in  the  form 
of  a  great  eagle,  watches  over  them,  hovering  in  the  sky,  far  out 
of  sight.  Sometimes,  when  well  pleased  with  them,  he  wheels 
down  into  the  lower  regions,  and  may  be  seen  circling  with  wide 
spread  wings  against  the  white  clouds  ;  at  such  times  the  seasons 
are  propitious,  the  corn  grows  finely,  and  they  have  great  success 
in  hunting.  Sometimes,  however,  he  is  angry,  and  then  he  vents 
his  rage  in  the  thunder,  which  is  his  voice,  and  the  lightning, 
which  is  the  flashing  of  his  eye,  and  strikes  dead  the  object  of  his 
displeasure. 

The  Delawares  make  sacrifices  to  this  spirit,  who  occasionally 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  83 


lets  drop  a  feather  from  his  wing  in  token  of  satisfaction.  These 
feathers  render  the  wearer  invisible,  and  invulnerable.  Indeed, 
the  Indians  generally  consider  the  feathers  of  the  eagle  possessed 
of  occult  and  sovereign  virtues. 

At  one  time  a  party  of  the  Delawares,  in  the  course  of  a  bold 
excursion  into  the  Pawnee  hunting  grounds,  were  surrounded  on 
one  of  the  great  plains,  and  nearly  destroyed.  The  remnant 
took  refuge  on  the  summit  of  one  of  those  isolated  and  conical 
hills  which  rise  almost  like  artificial  mounds,  from  the  midst  of 
the  prairies.  Here  the  chief  warrior,  driven  almost  to  despair, 
sacrificed  his  horse  to  the  tutelar  spirit.  Suddenly  an  enormous 
eagle,  rushing  down  from  the  sky,  bore  off  the  victim  in  his  talons, 
and  mounting  into  the  air,  dropped  a  quill  feather  from  his  wing. 
The  chief  caught  it  up  with  joy,  bound  it  to  his  forehead,  and? 
leading  his  followers  down  the  hill,  cut  his  way  through  the  enemy 
with  great  slaughter,  and  without  any  one  of  his  party  receiving 
a  wound. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    SEARCH    FOR    THE    ELK. PAWNEE    STORIES. 

WITH  the  morning  dawn,  the  prime  hunters  of  the  camp  were  all 
on  the  alert,  and  set  off  in  different  directions,  to  beat  up  the 
country  for  game.  The  Captain's  brother,  Sergeant  Bean,  was 
among  the  first,  and  returned  before  breakfast  with  success, 
having  killed  a  fat  doe,  almost  within  the  purlieus  of  the  camp. 
When  breakfast  was  over,  the  Captain  mounted  his  horse,  to 


84  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


go  in  quest  of  the  elk  which  he  had  wounded  on  the  preceding 
evening ;  and  which,  he  was  persuaded,  had  received  its  death 
wound.  I  determined  to  join  him  in  the  search,  and  we  accord 
ingly  sallied  forth  together,  accompanied  also  by  his  brother,  the 
sergeant,  and  a  lieutenant.  Two  rangers  followed  on  foot,  to 
bring  home  the  carcass  of  the  doe  which  the  sergeant  had  killed. 
We  had  not  ridden  far,  when  we  came  to  where  it  lay,  on  the  side 
of  a  hill,  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful  woodland  scene.  The  two 
rangers  immediately  fell  to  work,  with  true  hunters'  skill  to  dis 
member  it,  and  prepare  it  for  transportation  to  the  camp,  while 
we  continued  on  our  course.  We  passed  along  sloping  hill  sides, 
among  skirts  of  thicket  and  scattered  forest  trees,  until  we  came 
to  a  place  where  the  long  herbage  was  pressed  down  with  nume 
rous  elk  beds.  Here  the  Captain  had  first  roused  the  gang  of 
elks,  and,  after  looking  about  diligently  for  a  little  while,  he 
pointed  out  their  "  trail,"  the  foot-prints  of  which  were  as  large 
as  those  of  horned  cattle.  He  now  put  himself  upon  the  track, 
and  went  quietly  forward,  the  rest  of  us  following  him  in  Indian 
file.  At  length  he  halted  at  the  place  where  the  elk  had  been  when 
shot  at:  Spots  of  blood  on  the  surrounding  herbage  showed  that 
the  shot  had  been  effective.  The  wounded  animal  had  evidently 
kept  for  some  distance  with  the  rest  of  the  herd,  as  could  be  seen 
by  sprinklings  of  blood  here  and  there,  on  the  shrubs  and  weeds 
bordering  the  trail.  These  at  length  suddenly  disappeared. 
"  Somewhere  hereabout,"  said  the  Captain,  "  the  elk  must  have 
turned  off  from  the  gang.  Whenever  they  feel  themselves  mor 
tally  wounded,  they  will  turn  aside,  and  seek  some  out-of-the-way 
place  to  die  alone." 

There  was  something  in  this  picture  of  the  last  moments  of  a 
wounded  deer,  to  touch  the  sympathies  of  one  not  hardened  to 


A   TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  85 


the  gentle  disports  of  the  chase ;  such  sympathies,  however,  are 
but  transient.  Man  is  naturally  an  animal  of  prey ;  and,  how 
ever  changed  by  civilization,  will  readily  relapse  into  his  instinct 
for  destruction.  I  found  my  ravenous  and  sanguinary  propensi 
ties  daily  growing  stronger  upon  the  prairies. 

After  looking  about  for  a  little  while,  the  Captain  succeeded 
in  finding  the  separate  trail  of  the  wounded  elk,  which  turned  oif 
almost  at  right  angles  from  that  of  the  herd,  and  entered  an  open 
forest  of  scattered  trees.  The  traces  of  blood  became  more  faint 
and  rare,  and  occurred  at  greater  distances  :  at  length  they  ceased 
altogether,  and  the  ground  was  so  hard,  and  the  herbage  so  much 
parched  and  withered,  that  the  foot-prints  of  the  animal  could  no 
longer  be  perceived. 

"  The  elk  must  lie  somewhere  in  this  neighborhood,"  said  the 
Captain,  "  as  you  may  know  by  those  turkey-buzzards  wheeling 
about  in  the  air :  for  they  always  hover  in  that  way  above  some 
carcass.  However,  the  dead  elk  cannot  get  away,  so  let  us  follow 
the  trail  of  the  living  ones :  they  may  have  halted  at  no  great 
distance,  and  we  may  find  them  grazing,  and  get  another  crack  at 
them." 

We  accordingly  returned,  and  resumed  the  trail  of  the  elks, 
which  led  us  a  straggling  course  over  hill  and  dale,  covered  with 
scattered  oaks.  Every  now  and  then  we  would  catch  a  glimpse 
of  a  deer  bounding  away  across  some  glade  of  the  forest,  but  the 
Captain  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  his  elk  hunt  by  such  inferior 
game.  A  large  flock  of  wild  turkeys,  too,  were  roused  by  the 
trampling  of  our  horses ;  some  scampered  off  as  fast  as  their 
long  legs  could  carry  them  ;  others  fluttered  up  into  the  trees, 
where  they  remained  with  outstretched  necks,  gazing  at  us.  The 
Captain  would  not  allow  a  rifle  to  be  discharged  at  them,  lest  it 


86  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


should  alarm  the  elk,  which  he  hoped  to  find  in  the  vicinity.  At 
length  we  came  to  where  the  forest  ended  in  a  steep  bank,  and 
the  Red  Fork  wound  its  way  below  us,  between  broad  sandy  shores. 
The  trail  descended  the  bank,  and  we  could  trace  it,  with  our 
eyes,  across  the  level  sands,  until  it  terminated  in  the  river, 
which,  it  was  evident,  the  gang  had  forded  on  the  preceding 
evening. 

"  It  is  needless  to  follow  on  any  further,"  said  the  Captain. 
"  The  elk  must  have  been  much  frightened,  and,  after  crossing 
the  river,  may  have  kept  on  for  twenty  miles  without  stopping." 

Our  little  party  now  divided,  the  lieutenant  and  sergeant 
making  a  circuit  in  quest  of  game,  and  the  Captain  and  myself 
taking  the  direction  of  the  camp.  On  our  way,  we  came  to  a 
buffalo  track,  more  than  a  year  old.  It  was  not  wider  than  an 
ordinary  footpath,  and  worn  deep  into  the  soil :  for  these  animals 
follow  each  other  in  single  file.  Shortly  afterwards,  we  met  two 
rangers  on  foot,  hunting.  They  had  wounded  an  elk,  but  he  had 
escaped  ;  and  in  pursuing  him,  had  found  the  one  shot  by  the 
Captain  on  the  preceding  evening.  They  turned  back,  and  con 
ducted  us  to  it.  It  was  a  noble  animal,  as  large  as  a  yearling 
heifer,  and  lay  in  an  open  part  of  the  forest,  about  a  mile  and  a 
half  distant  from  the  place  where  it  had  been  shot.  The  turkey- 
buzzards,  which  we  had  previously  noticed,  were  wheeling  in  the 
air  above  it.  The  observation  of  the  Captain  seemed  verified. 
The  poor  animal,  as  life  was  ebbing  away,  had  apparently  aban 
doned  its  unhurt  companions,  and  turned  aside  to  die  alone. 

The  Captain  and  the  two  rangers  forthwith  fell  to  work,  with 
their  hunting-knives,  to  flay  and  cut  up  the  carcass.  It  was  al 
ready  tainted  on  the  inside,  but  ample  collops  were  cut  from  the 
ribs  and  haunches,  and  laid  in  a  heap  on  the  outstretched  hide. 


A   TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  87 


Holes  were  then  cut  along  the  border  of  the  hide,  raw  thongs 
were  passed  through  them,  and  the  whole  drawn  up  like  a  sack, 
which  was  swung  behind  the  Captain's  saddle.  All  this  while, 
the  turkey-buzzards  were  soaring  overhead,  waiting  for  our  de 
parture,  to  swoop  down  and  banquet  on  the  carcass. 

The  wreck  of  the  poor  elk  being  thus  dismantled,  the  Cap 
tain  and  myself  mounted  our  horses,  and  jogged  back  to  the 
camp,  while  the  two  rangers  resumed  their  hunting. 

On  reaching  the  camp,  I  found  there  our  young  half-breed, 
Antoine.  After  separating  from  Beatte,  in  the  search  after  the 
stray  horses  on  the  other  side  of  the  Arkansas,  he  had  fallen 
upon  a  wrong  track,  which  he  followed  for  several  miles,  when  he 
overtook  old  Ryan  and  his  party,  and  found  he  had  been  follow 
ing  their  traces. 

They  all  forded  the  Arkansas  about  eight  miles  above  our 
crossing  place,  and  found  their  way  to  our  late  encampment  in 
the  glen,  where  the  rear-guard  we  had  left  behind  was  waiting 
for  them.  Antoine,  being  well  mounted,  and  somewhat  impatient 
to  rejoin  us.  had  pushed  on  alone,  following  our  trail,  to  our  pre 
sent  encampment,  and  bringing  the  carcass  of  a  young  bear  which 
he  had  killed. 

Our  camp,  during  the  residue  of  the  day,  presented  a  min 
gled  picture  of  bustle  and  repose.  Some  of  the  men  were  busy 
round  the  fires,  jerking  and  roasting  venison  and  bear's  meat,  to 
be  packed  up  as  a  future  supply.  Some  were  stretching  and 
dressing  the  skins  of  the  animals  they  had  killed ;  others  were 
washing  their  clothes  in  the  brook,  and  hanging  them  on  the 
bushes  to  dry  ;  while  many  were  lying  on  the  grass,  and  lazily 
gossiping  in  the  shade.  Every  now  and  then  a  hunter  would 
return,  on  horseback  or  on  foot,  laden  with  game,  or  empty  hand- 


88  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


ed.  Those  who  brought  home  any  spoil,  deposited  it  at  the  Cap 
tain's  fire,  and  then  filed  off  to  their  respective  messes,  to  relate 
their  day's  exploits  to  their  companions.  The  game  killed  at 
this  camp  consisted  of  six  deer,  one  elk,  two  bears,  and"  six  or 
eight  turkeys. 

During  the  last  two  or  three  days,  since  their  wild  Indian 
achievement  in  navigating  the  river,  our  retainers  had  risen  in 
consequence  among  the  rangers  ;  and  now  I  found  Tonish  making 
himself  a  complete  oracle  among  some  of  the  raw  and  inexpe 
rienced  recruits,  who  had  never  been  in  the  wilderness.  He  had 
continually  a  knot  hanging  about  him,  and  listening  to  his  ex 
travagant  tales  about  the  Pawnees,  with  whom  he  pretended  to 
have  had  fearful  encounters.  His  representations,  in  fact,  were 
calculated  to  inspire  his  hearers  with  an  awful  idea  of  the  foe 
into  whose  lands  they  were  intruding.  According  to  his  ac 
counts,  the  rifle  of  the  white  man  was  no  match  for  the  bow  and 
arrow  of  the  Pawnee.  When  the  rifle  was  once  discharged,  it 
took  time  and  trouble  to  load  it  again,  and  in  the  mean  time  the 
enemy  could  keep  on  launching  his  shafts  as  fast  as  he  could 
draw  his  bow.  Then  the  Pawnee,  according  to  Tonish,  could 
shoot,  with  unerring  aim,  three  hundred  yards,  and  send  his 
arrow  clean  through  and  through  a  buffalo  ;  nay,  he  had  known 
a  Pawnee  shaft  pass  through  one  buffalo  and  wound  another. 
And  then  the  way  the  Pawnees  sheltered  themselves  from  the 
shots  of  their  enemy :  they  would  hang  with  one  leg  over  the 
saddle,  crouching  their  bodies  along  the  opposite  side  of  their 
horse,  and  would  shoot  their  arrows  from  under  his  neck,  while 
at  full  speed  ! 

If  Tonish  was  to  be  believed,  there  was  peril  at  every  step  in 
these  debateable  grounds  of  the  Indian  tribes.  Pawnees  lurked 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  89 


unseen  among  the  thickets  and  ravines.  They  had  their  scouts 
and  sentinels  on  the  summit  of  the  mounds  which  command  a 
view  over  the  prairies,  where  they  lay  crouched  in  the  tall  grass ; 
only  now  and  then  raising  their  heads  to  watch  the  movements 
of  any  war  or  hunting  -party  that  might  be  passing  in  lengthened 
line  below.  At  night,  they  would  lurk  round  an  encampment ; 
crawling  through  the  grass,  and  imitating  the  movements  of  a 
wolf,  so  as  to  deceive  the  sentinel  on  the  outpost,  until,  having 
arrived  sufficiently  near,  they  would  speed  an  arrow  through  his 
heart,  and  retreat  undiscovered.  In  telling  his  stories,  Tonish 
would  appeal  from  time  to  time  to  Beatte,  for  the  truth  of  what 
he  said  ;  the  only  reply  would  be  a  nod  or  shrug  of  the  shoulders  ; 
the  latter  being  divided  in  mind  between  a  distaste  for  the  gas 
conading  spirit  of  his  comrade,  and  a  sovereign  contempt  for  the 
inexperience  of  the  young  rangers  in  all  that  he  considered  true 
knowledge. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A    SICK    CAMP. THE     MARCH. THE     DISABLED     HORSE. OLD     RYAN 


AND    THE     STRAGGLERS. SYMPTOMS     OF    CHANGE     OF    WEATHER 

AND    CHANGE    OF    HUMORS. 


OCT.  18.  We  prepared  to  march  at  the  usual  hour,  but  word 
was  brought  to  the  Captain  that  three  of  the  rangers,  who  had 
been  attacked  with  the  measles,  were  unable  to  proceed,  and 
that  another  one  was  missing.  The  last  was  an  old  frontiersman, 
by  the  name  of  Sawyer,  who  had  gained  years  without  experience  ; 


90  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


and  having  sallied  forth  to  hunt,  on  the  preceding  day,  had 
probably  lost  his  way  on  the  prairies.  A  guard  of  ten  men  was, 
therefore,  left  to  take  care  of  the  sick,  and  wait  for  the  straggler. 
If  the  former  recovered  sufficiently  in  the  course  of  two  or  three 
days,  they  were  to  rejoin  the  main  body,  otherwise  to  be  escorted 
back  to  the  garrison. 

Taking  our  leave  of  the  sick  camp,  we  shaped  our  course 
westward,  along  the  heads  of  small  streams,  all  wandering,  in 
deep  ravines,  towards  the  Red  Fork.  The  land  was  high  and 
undulating,  or  "  rolling."  as  it  is  termed  in  the  West ;  with  a 
poor  hungry  soil  mingled  with  the  sandstone,  which  is  unusual  in 
this  part  of  the  country,  and  checkered  with  harsh  forests  of 
post-oak  and  black-jack. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning,  I  received  a  lesson  on  the 
importance  of  being  chary  of  one's  steed  on  the  prairies.  The 
one  I  rode  surpassed  in  action  most  horses  of  the  troop,  and  was 
of  great  mettle  and  a  generous  spirit.  In  crossing  the  deep 
ravines,  he  would  scramble  up  the  steep  banks  like  a  cat,  and  was 
always  for  leaping  the  narrow  runs  of  water.  I  was  not  aware 
of  the  imprudence  of  indulging  him  in  such  exertions,  until,  in 
leaping  him  across  a  small  brook,  I  felt  him  immediately  falter 
beneath  me.  He  limped  forward  a  short  distance,  but  soon  fell 
stark  lame,  having  sprained  his  shoulder.  "What  was  to  be  done  ? 
He  could  not  keep  up  with  the  troop,  and  was  too  valuable  to  be 
abandoned  on  the  prairie.  The  only  alternative  was  to  send 
him  back  to  join  the  invalids  in  the  sick  camp,  and  to  share  their 
fortunes.  Nobody,  however,  seemed  disposed  to  lead  him  back, 
although  I  offered  a  liberal  reward.  Either  the  stories  of  Tonish 
about  the  Pawnees  had  spread  an  apprehension  of  lurking  foes, 
and  imminent  perils  on  the  prairies  ;  or  there  was  a  fear  of  miss- 


A   TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  91 

ing  the  trail  and  getting  lost.  At  length  two  young  men  stepped 
forward  and  agreed  to  go  in  company,  so  that,  should  they  be 
benighted  on  the  prairies,  there  might  be  one  to  watch  while  the 
other  slept. 

The  horse  was  accordingly  consigned  to  their  care,  and  I  looked 
after  him  with  a  rueful  eye,  as  he  limped  off,  for  it  seemed  as  if, 
with  him,  all  strength  and  buoyancy  had  departed  from  me. 

I  looked  round  for  a  steed  to  supply  his  place,  and  fixed  my 
eyes  upon  the  gallant  gray  which  I  had  transferred  at  the  Agency 
to  Tonish.  The  moment,  however,  that  I  hinted  about  his  dis 
mounting  and  taking  up  with  the  supernumerary  pony,  the  little 
varlet  broke  out  into  vociferous  remonstrances  and  lamentations, 
gasping  and  almost  strangling,  in  his  eagerness  to  give  vent  to 
them.  I  saw  that  to  unhorse  him  would  be  to  prostrate  his 
spirit  and  cut  his  vanity  to  the  quick.  I  had  not  the  heart  to 
inflict  such  a  wound,  or  to  bring  down  the  poor  devil  from  his 
transient  vainglory  ;  so  I  left  him  in  possession  of  his  gallant 
gray;  and  contented  myself  with  shifting  my  saddle  to  the 
jaded  pony. 

I  was  now  sensible  of  the  complete  reverse  to  which  a  horse 
man  is  exposed  on  the  prairies.  I  felt  how  completely  the  spirit 
of  the  rider  depended  upon  his  steed.  I  had  hitherto  been  able 
to  make  excursions  at  will  from  the  line,  and  to  gallop  in  pursuit 
of  any  object  of  interest  or  curiosity.  I  was  now  reduced  to 
the  tone  of  the  jaded  animal  I  bestrode,  and  doomed  to  plod  on 
patiently  and  slowly  after  my  file  leader.  Above  all,  I  was  made 
conscious  how  unwise  it  is,  on  expeditions  of  the  kind,  where  a 
man's  life  may  depend  upon  the  strength,  and  speed,  and  fresh 
ness  of  his  horse,  to  task  the  generous  animal  by  any  unneces 
sary  exertion  of  his  powers. 


92  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


I  have  observed  that  the  wary  and  experienced  huntsman 
and  traveller  of  the  prairies  is  always  sparing  of  his  horse,  when 
on  a  journey  ;  never,  except  in  emergency,  putting  him  off  of  a 
walk.  The  regular  journey  ings  of  frontiersmen  and  Indians, 
when  on  a  long  march,  seldom  exceed  above  fifteen  miles  a  day, 
and  are  generally  about  ten  or  twelve,  and  they  never  indulge  in 
capricious  galloping.  Many  of  those,  however,  with  whom  I  was 
travelling  were  young  and  inexperienced,  and  full  of  excitement 
at  finding  themselves  in  a  country  abounding  with  game.  It  was 
impossible  to  retain  them  in  the  sobriety  of  a  march,  or  to  keep 
them  to  the  line.  As  we  broke  our  way  through  the  coverts  and 
ravines,  and  the  deer  started  up  and  scampered  off  to  the  right 
and  left,  the  rifle  balls  would  whiz  after  them,  and  our  young 
hunters  dash  off  in  pursuit.  At  one  time  they  made  a  grand 
burst  after  what  they  supposed  to  be  a  gang  of  bears,  but  soon 
pulled  up  on  discovering  them  to  be  black  wolves,  prowling  in 
company. 

After  a  march  of  about  twelve  miles  we  encamped,  a  little 
after  mid-day,  on  the  borders  of  a  brook  which  loitered  through 
a  deep  ravine.  In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  old  Ryan,  the 
Nestor  of  the  camp,  made  his  appearance,  followed  by  his  little 
band  of  stragglers.  He  was  greeted  with  joyful  acclamations, 
which  showed  the  estimation  in  which  he  was  held  by  his  brother 
woodmen.  The  little  band  came  laden  with  venison  ;  a  fine 
haunch  of  which  the  veteran  hunter  laid,  as  a  present,  by  the 
Captain's  fire. 

Our  men,  Beatte  and  Tonish,  both  sallied  forth,  early  in  the 
afternoon,  to  hunt.  Towards  evening  the  former  returned,  with 
a  fine  buck  across  his  horse.  He  laid  it  down,  as  usual,  in 
silence,  and  proceeded  to  unsaddle  and  turn  his  horse  loose. 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  93 


Tonish  came  back  without  any  game,  but  with  much  more  glory  5 
having  made  several  capital  shots,  though  unluckily  the  wounded 
deer  had  all  escaped  him. 

There  was  an  abundant  supply  of  meat  in  the  camp  ;  for, 
besides  other  game,  three  elk  had  been  killed.  The  wary  and 
veteran  woodmen  were  all  busy  jerking  meat,  against  a  time  of 
scarcity;  the  less  experienced  revelled  in  present  abundance, 
leaving  the  morrow  to  provide  for  itself. 

On  the  following  morning,  (Oct.  19,)  I  succeeded  in  changing 
my  pony  and  a  reasonable  sum  of  money  for  a  strong  and  active 
horse.  It  was  a  great  satisfaction  to  find  myself  once  more 
tolerably  well  mounted.  I  perceived,  however,  that  there  would 
be  little  difficulty  in  making  a  selection  from  among  the  troop, 
for  the  rangers  had  all  that  propensity  for  "  swapping,"  or,  as 
they  term  it,  "  trading,"  which  pervades  the  West.  In  the  course 
of  our  expedition,  there  was  scarce  a  horse,  rifle,  powder-horn,  or 
blanket,  that  did  not  change  owners  several  times  ;  and  one  keen 
"  trader  "  boasted  of  having  by  dint  of  frequent  bargains  changed 
a  bad  horse  into  a  good  one,  and  put  a  hundred  dollars  in  his 
pocket. 

The  morning  was  lowering  and  sultry,  with  low  muttering  of 
distant  thunder.  The  change  of  weather  had  its  effect  upon  the 
spirits  of  the  troop.  The  camp  was  unusually  sober  and  quiet ; 
there  was  none  of  the  accustomed  farmyard  melody  of  crowing 
and  cackling  at  daybreak ;  none  of  the  bursts  of  merriment,  the 
loud  jokes  and  banterings,  that  had  commonly  prevailed  during 
the  bustle  of  equipment.  Now  and  then  might  be  heard  a  short 
strain  of  a  song,  a  faint  laugh,  or  a  solitary  whistle  ;  but,  in  gene 
ral,  every  one  went  silently  and  doggedly  about  the  duties  of  the 
camp,  or  the  preparations  for  departure. 


94  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


When  the  time  arrived  to  saddle  and  mount,  five  horses  were 
reported  as  missing  j  although  all  the  woods  and  thickets  had 
been  beaten  up  for  some  distance  round  the  camp.  Several 
rangers  were  dispatched  to  "  skir ;'  the  country  round  in  quest  of 
them.  In  the  meantime,  the  thunder  continued  to  growl,  and  we 
had  a  passing  shower.  The  horses,  like  their  riders,  were  affected 
by  the  change  of  weather.  They  stood  here  and  there  about  the 
camp,  some  saddled  and  bridled,  others  loose,  but  all  spiritless 
and  dozing,  with  stooping  head,  one  hind  leg  partly  drawn  up  so 
as  to  rest  on  the  point  of  the  hoof,  and  the  whole  hide  reeking 
with  the  rain,  and  sending  up  wreaths  of  vapor.  The  men,  too, 
waited  in  listless  groups  the  return  of  their  comrades  who  had 
gone  in  quest  of  the  horses  ;  now  and  then  turning  up  an  anxious 
eye  to  the  drifting  clouds,  which  boded  an  approaching  storm. 
Gloomy  weather  inspires  gloomy  thoughts.  Some  expressed 
fears  that  we  were  dogged  by  some  party  of  Indians,  who  had 
stolen  the  horses  in  the  night.  The  most  prevalent  apprehen 
sion,  however,  was,  that  they  had  returned  on  their  traces  to  our 
last  encampment,  or  had  started  off  on  a  direct  line  for  Fort  Gib 
son.  In  this  respect,  the  instinct  of  horses  is  said  to  resemble 
that  of  the  pigeon.  They  will  strike  for  home  by  a  direct  course, 
passing  through  tracts  of  wilderness  which  they  have  never  before 
traversed. 

After  delaying  until  the  morning  was  somewhat  advanced,  a 
lieutenant  with  a  guard  was  appointed  to  await  the  return  of  the 
rangers,  and  we  set  off  on  our  day's  journey,  considerably  reduced 
in  numbers ;  much,  as  I  thought,  to  the  discomposure  of  some 
of  the  troop,  who  intimated  that  we  might  prove  too  weak-handed, 
in  case  of  an  encounter  with  the  Pawnees. 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THUNDER-STORM    ON     THE      PRAIRIES. THE     STORM    ENCAMPMENT. 

NIGHT    SCENE. INDIAN    STORIES. A    FRIGHTENED    HORSE. 

OUR  march  for  a  part  of  the  day,  lay  a  little  to  the  south  of  west, 
through  straggling  forests  of  the  kind  of  low  scrubbed  trees 
already  mentioned,  called  "post-oaks,"  and  "black-jacks."  The 
soil  of  these  "  oak  barrens  "  is  loose  and  unsound  ;  being  little 
better  at  times  than  a  mere  quicksand,  in  which,  in  rainy  weather, 
the  horse's  hoof  slips  from  side  to  side,  and  now  and  then  sinks 
in  a  rotten,  spongy  turf,  to  the  fetlock.  Such  was  the  case  at 
present  in  consequence  of  successive  thunder-showers,  through 
which  we  draggled  along  in  dogged  silence.  Several  deer  were 
roused  by  our  approach,  and  scudded  across  the  forest  glades ; 
but  no  one,  as  formerly,  broke  the  line  of  march  to  pursue  them. 
At  one  time,  we  passed  the  bones  and  horns  of  a  buffalo,  and 
at  another  time  a  buffalo  track,  not  above  three  days  old.  These 
signs  of  the  vicinity  of  this  grand  game  of  the  prairies,  had  a 
reviving  effect  on  the  spirits  of  our  huntsmen  ;  but  it  was  of 
transient  duration. 

In  crossing  a  prairie  of  moderate  extent,  rendered  little 
better  than  a  slippery  bog  by  the  recent  showers,  we  were  over 
taken  by  a  violent  thunder-gust.  The  rain  came  rattling  upon 
us  in  torrents,  and  spattered  up  like  steam  along  the  ground  ; 
the  whole  landscape  was  suddenly  wrapped  in  gloom  that  gave  a 
vivid  effect  to  the  intense  sheets  of  lightning,  while  the  thunder 
seemed  to  burst  over  our  very  heads,  and  was  reverberated  by  the 
groves  and  forests  that  checkered  and  skirted  the  prairie.  Man 


96  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


and  beast  were  so  pelted,  drenched,  and  confounded,  that  the 
line  was  thrown  in  complete  confusion  ;  some  of  the  horses  were 
so  frightened  as  to  be  almost  unmanageable,  and  our  scattered 
cavalcade  looked  like  a  tempest-tossed  fleet,  driving  hither  and 
thither,  at  the  mercy  of  wind  and  wave. 

At  length,  at  half  past  two  o'clock,  we  came  to  a  halt,  and 
gathering  together  our  forces,  encamped  in  an  open  and  lofty 
grove,  with  a  prairie  on  one  side  and  a  stream  on  the  other. 
The  forest  immediately  rang  with  the  sound  of  the  axe,  and  the 
crash  of  falling  trees.  Huge  fires  were  soon  blazing  •  blankets 
were  stretched  before  them,  by  way  of  tents  ;  booths  were  hastily 
reared  of  bark  and  skins  ;  every  fire  had  its  group  drawn  close 
round  it,  drying  and  warming  themselves,  or  preparing  a  com 
forting  meal.  Some  of  the  rangers  were  discharging  and  clean 
ing  their  rifles,  which  had  been  exposed  to  the  rain  ;  while  the 
horses,  relieved  from  their  saddles  and  burdens,  rolled  in  the  wet 
grass. 

The  showers  continued  from  time  to  time,  until  late  in  the 
evening.  Before  dark,  our  horses  were  gathered  in  and  tethered 
about  the  skirts  of  the  camp,  within  the  outposts,  through  fear 
of  Indian  prowlers,  who  are  apt  to  take  advantage  of  stormy 
nights  for  their  depredations  and  assaults.  As  the  night  thick 
ened,  the  huge  fires  became  more  and  more  luminous  ;  lighting 
up  masses  of  the  overhanging  foliage,  and  leaving  other  parts  of 
the  grove  in  deep  gloom.  Every  fire  had  its  goblin  group  around 
it,  while  the  tethered  horses  were  dimly  seen,  like  spectres,  among 
the  thickets  ;  excepting  that  here  and  there  a  gray  one  stood  out 
in  bright  relief. 

The  grove,  thus  fitfully  lighted  up  by  the  ruddy  glare  of  the 
fires,  resembled  a  vast  leafy  dome,  walled  in  by  opaque  darkness ; 


A   TOUR    ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  97 

but  every  now  and  then  two  or  three  quivering  flashes  of  light 
ning  in  quick  succession,  would  suddenly  reveal  a  vast  champaign 
country,  where  fields  and  forests,  and  running  streams,  would 
start,  as  it  were,  into  existence  for  a  few  brief  seconds,  and,  be 
fore  the  eye  could  ascertain  them,  vanish  again  into  gloom. 

A  thunder-storm  on  a  prairie,  as  upon  the  ocean,  derives 
grandeur  and  sublimity  from  the  wild  and  boundless  waste  over 
which  it  rages  and  bellows.  It  is  not  surprising  that  these  awful 
phenomena  of  nature  should  be  objects  of  superstitious  reverence 
to  the  poor  savages,  and  that  they  should  consider  the  thunder 
the  angry  voice  of  the  Great  Spirit.  As  our  half-breeds  sat  gos 
siping  round  the  fire,  I  drew  from  them  some  of  the  notions  en 
tertained  on  the  subject  by  their  Indian  friends.  The  latter  de 
clare  that  extinguished  thunderbolts  are  sometimes  picked  up  by 
hunters  on  the  prairies,  who  use  them  for  the  heads  of  arrows 
and  lances,  and  that  any  warrior  thus  armed  is  invincible. 
Should  a  thunder-storm  occur,  however,  during  battle,  he  is  liable 
to  be  carried  away  by  the  thunder,  and  never  heard  of  more. 

A  warrior  of  the  Konza  tribe,  hunting  on  a  prairie,  was  over 
taken  by  a  storm,  and  struck  down  senseless  by  the  thunder.  On 
recovering,  he  beheld  the  thunderbolt  lying  on  the  ground,  and  a 
horse  standing  beside  it.  Snatching  up  the  bolt,  he  sprang  upon 
the  horse,  but  found,  too  late,  that  he  was  astride  of  the  light 
ning.  In  an  instant  he  was  whisked  away  over  prairies  and 
forests,  and  streams  and  deserts,  until  he  was  flung  senseless  at 
the  foot  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  ;  whence,  on  recovering,  it  took 
him  several  months  to  return  to  his  own  people. 

This  story  reminded  me  of  an  Indian  tradition,  related  by  a 
traveller,  of  the  fate  of  a  warrior  who  saw  the  thunder  lying  upon 
the  ground,  with  a  beautifully  wrought  moccason  on  each  side  of 


98  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


it.  Thinking  he  had  found  a  prize,  he  put  on  the  moccasons  ; 
"but  they  bore  him  away  to  the  land  of  spirits,  whence  he  never 
returned. 

These  are  simple  and  artless  tales,  but  they  had  a  wild  and 
romantic  interest  heard  from  the  lips  of  half-savage  narrators, 
round  a  hunter's  fire,  in  a  stormy  night,  with  a  forest  on  one  side, 
and  a  howling  waste  on  the  other  j  and  where,  peradventure, 
savage  foes  might  be  lurking  in  the  outer  darkness. 

Our  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  clap  of  thunder, 
followed  immediately  by  the  sound  of  a  horse  galloping  off  madly 
into  the  waste.  Every  one  listened  in  mute  silence.  The  hoofs 
resounded  vigorously  for  a  time,  but  grew  fainter  and  fainter, 
until  they  died  away  in  remote  distance. 

When  the  sound  was  no  longer  to  be  heard,  the  listeners 
turned  to  conjecture  what  could  have  caused  this  sudden  scamper. 
Some  thought  the  horse  had  been  startled  by  the  thunder  ;  others, 
that  some  lurking  Indian  had  galloped  off  with  him.  To  this  it 
was  objected,  that  the  usual  mode  with  the  Indians  is  to  steal 
quietly  upon  the  horse,  take  off  his  fetters,  mount  him  gently,  and 
walk  him  off  as  silently  as  possible,  leading  off  others,  without 
any  unusual  stir  or  noise  to  disturb  the  camp. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  was  stated  as  a  common  practice  with 
the  Indians,  to  creep  among  a  troop  of  horses  when  grazing  at 
night,  mount  one  quietly,  and  then  start  off  suddenly  at  full 
speed.  Nothing  is  so  contagious  among  horses  as  a  panic  ;  one 
sudden  break-away  of  this  kind,  will  sometimes  alarm  the  whole 
troop,  and  they  will  set  off,  helter-skelter,  after  the  leader. 

Every  one  who  had  a  horse  grazing  on  the  skirts  of  the  camp 
was  uneasy,  lest  his  should  be  the  fugitive  ;  but  it  was  impossible 
to  ascertain  the  fact  until  morning.  Those  who  had  tethered 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  99 


their  horses  felt  more  secure ;  though  horses  thus  tied  up,  and 
limited  to  a  short  range  at  night,  are  apt  to  fall  off  in  flesh  and 
strength,  during  a  long  march  ;  and  many  of  the  horses  of  the 
troop  already  gave  signs  of  being  wayworn. 

After  a  gloomy  and  unruly  night,  the  morning  dawned  bright 
and  clear,  and  a  glorious  sunrise  transformed  the  whole  landscape, 
as  if  by  magic.  The  late  dreary  wilderness  brightened  into  a  fine 
open  country,  with  stately  groves,  and  clumps  of  oaks  of  a  gigan 
tic  size,  some  of  which  stood  singly,  as  if  planted  for  ornament 
and  shade,  in  the  midst  of  rich  meadows ;  while  our  horses,  scat 
tered  about,  and  grazing  under  them,  gave  to  the  whole  the  air 
of  a  noble  park.  It  was  difficult  to  realize  the  fact  that  we  were 
so  far  in  the  wilds  beyond  the  residence  of  man.  Our  encamp 
ment,  alone,  had  a  savage  appearance  ;  with  its  rude  tents  of  skins 
and  blankets,  and  its  columns  of  blue  smoke  rising  among  the 
trees. 

The  first  care  in  the  morning,  was  to  look  after  our  horses. 
Some  of  them  had  wandered  to  a  distance,  but  all  were  fortu 
nately  found ;  even  the  one  whose  clattering  hoofs  had  caused 
such  uneasiness  in  the  night.  He  had  come  to  a  halt  about  a 
mile  from  the  camp,  and  was  found  quietly  grazing  near  a  brook. 
The  bugle  sounded  for  departure  about  half  past  eight.  As  we 
were  in  greater  risk  of  Indian  molestation  the  farther  we  ad 
vanced,  our  line  was  formed  with  more  precision  than  heretofore. 
Every  one  had  his  station  assigned  him,  and  was  forbidden  to 
leave  it  in  pursuit  of  game,  without  special  permission.  The 
pack-horses  were  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  line,  and  a  strong 
guard  in  the  rear. 


100  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A    GRAND    PRAIRIE. CLIFF    CASTLE. BUFFALO    TRACKS. DEER 

HUNTED    BY    WOLVES. CROSS    TIMBER. 

AFTER  a  toilsome  marcli  of  some  distance  through  a  country  cut 
up  by  ravines  and  brooks,  and  entangled  by  thickets,  we  emerged 
upon  a  grand  prairie.  Here  one  of  the  characteristic  scenes  of 
the  Far  West  broke  upon  us.  An  immense  extent  of  grassy, 
undulating,  or,  as  it  is  termed,  rolling  country,  with  here  and 
there  a  clump  of  trees,  dimly  seen  in  the  distance  like  a  ship  at 
sea ;  the  landscape  deriving  sublimity  from  its  vastness  and  sim 
plicity.  To  the  southwest,  on  the  summit  of  a  hill,  was  a  singular 
crest  of  broken  rocks,  resembling  a  ruined  fortress.  It  reminded 
me  of  the  ruin  of  some  Moorish  castle,  crowning  a  height  in  the 
midst  of  a  lonely  Spanish  landscape.  To  this  hill  we  gave  the 
name  of  Cliff  Castle. 

The  prairies  of  these  great  hunting  regions  differed  in  the 
character  of  their  vegetation  from  those  through  which  I  had 
hitherto  passed.  Instead  of  a  profusion  of  tall  flowering  plants 
and  long  flaunting  grasses,  they  were  covered  with  a  shorter 
growth  of  herbage  called  buffalo  grass,  somewhat  coarse,  but,  at 
the  proper  seasons,  affording  excellent  and  abundant  pasturage. 
At  present  it  was  growing  wiry,  and  in  many  places  was  too 
much  parched  for  grazing. 

The  weather  was  verging  into  that  serene  but  somewhat  arid 
season  called  the  Indian  Summer.  There  was  a  smoky  haze  in 
the  atmosphere  that  tempered  the  brightness  of  the  sunshine 
into  a  golden  tint,  softening  the  features  of  the  landscape,  and 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  101 

giving  a  vagueness  to  the  outlines  of  distant  objects.  This  hazi 
ness  was  daily  increasing,  and  was  attributed  to  the  burning  of 
distant  prairies  by  the  Indian  hunting  parties. 

We  had  not  gone  far  upon  the  prairie  before  we  came  to 
where  deeply-worn  footpaths  were  seen  traversing  the  country : 
sometimes  two  or  three  would  keep  on  parallel  to  each  other,  and 
but  a  few  paces  apart.  These  were  pronounced  to  be  traces  of 
buffaloes,  where  large  droves  had  passed.  There  were  tracks 
also  of  horses,  which  were  observed  with  some  attention  by  our 
experienced  hunters.  They  could  not  be  the  tracks  of  wild 
horses,  as  there  were  no  prints  of  the  hoofs  of  colts ;  all  were 
full-grown.  As  the  horses  evidently  were  not  shod,  it  was  con 
cluded  they  must  belong  to  some  hunting  party  of  Pawnees.  In 
the  course  of  the  morning,  the  tracks  of  a  single  horse,  with 
shoes,  were  discovered.  This  might  be  the  horse  of  a  Cherokee 
hunter,  or  perhaps  a  horse  stolen  from  the  whites  of  the  frontier. 
Thus,  in  traversing  these  perilous  wastes,  every  footprint  and 
dint  of  hoof  becomes  matter  of  cautious  inspection  and  shrewd 
surmise ;  and  the  question  continually  is,  whether  it  be  the  trace 
of  friend  or  foe,  whether  of  recent  or  ancient  date,  and  whether 
the  being  that  made  it  be  out  of  reach,  or  liable  to  be  encoun 
tered. 

We  were  getting  more  and  more  into  the  game  country :  as 
we  proceeded,  we  repeatedly  saw  deer  to  the  right  and  left, 
bounding  off  for  the  coverts 5  but  their  appearance  no  longer 
excited  the  same  eagerness  to  pursue.  In  passing  along  a  slope 
of  the  prairie,  between  two  rolling  swells'  of  land,  we  came  in 
sight  of  a  genuine  natural  hunting  match.  A  pack  of  seven 
black  wolves  and  one  white  one  were  in  full  chase  of  a  buck, 
which  they  had  nearly  tired  down.  They  crossed  the  line  of  our 


102  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


march  without  apparently  perceiving  us ;  we  saw  them  have 
a  fair  run  of  nearly  a  mile,  gaining  upon  the  buck  until  they 
were  leaping  upon  his  haunches,  when  he  plunged  down  a  ravine. 
Some  of  our  party  galloped  to  a  rising  ground  commanding  a 
view  of  the  ravine.  The  poor  buck  was  completely  beset,  some 
on  his  flanks,  some  at  his  throat :  he  made  two  or  three  struggles 
and  desperate  bounds,  but  was  dragged  down,  overpowered,  and 
torn  to  pieces.  The  black  wolves,  in  their  ravenous  hunger  and 
fury,  took  no  notice  of  the  distant  group  of  horsemen ;  but  the 
white  wolf,  apparently  less  game,  abandoned  the  prey,  and  scam 
pered  over  hill  and  dale,  rousing  various  deer  that  were  crouched 
in  the  hollows,  and  which  bounded  off  likewise  in  different  direc 
tions.  It  was  altogether  a  wild  scene,  worthy  of  the  "  hunting 
grounds." 

We  now  came  once  more  in  sight  of  the  Red  Fork,  winding 
its  turbid  course  between  well-wooded  hills,  and  through  a  vast 
and  magnificent  landscape.  The  prairies  bordering  on  the  rivers 
are  always  varied  in  this  way  with  woodland,  so  beautifully  inter 
spersed  as  to  appear  to  have  been  laid  out  by  the  hand  of  taste ; 
and  they  only  want  here  and  there  a  village  spire,  the  battlements 
of  a  castle,  or  the  turrets  of  an  old  family  mansion  rising  from 
among  the  trees,  to  rival  the  most  ornamented  scenery  of  Europe. 

About  mid-day  we  reached  the  edge  of  that  scattered  belt 
of  forest  land,  about  forty  miles  in  width,  which  stretches  across 
the  country  from  north  to  south,  from  the  Arkansas  to  the 
Red  River,  separating  the  upper  from  the  lower  prairies,  and 
commonly  called  the '"Cross  Timber."  On  the  skirts  of  this 
forest  land,  just  on  the  edge  of  a  prairie,  we  found  traces  of  a 
Pawnee  encampment  of  between  one  and  two  hundred  lodges, 
showing  that  the  party  must  have  been  numerous.  The  skull  of 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  103 


a  buffalo  lay  near  the  camp,  and  the  moss  which  had  gathered  on 
it  proved  that  the  encampment  was  at  least  a  year  old.  About 
half  a  mile  off  we  encamped  in  a  beautiful  grove,  watered  by 
a  fine  spring  and  rivulet.  Our  day's  journey  had  been  about 
fourteen  miles. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  we  were  rejoined  by  two  of 
Lieutenant  King's  party,  which  we  had  left  behind  a  few  days 
before,  to  look  after  stray  horses.  All  the  horses  had  been 
found,  though  some  had  wandered  to  the  distance  of  several 
miles.  The  lieutenant,  with  seventeen  of  his  companions,  had 
remained  at  our  last  night's  encampment  to  hunt,  having  come 
upon  recent  traces  of  buffalo.  They  had  also  seen  a  fine  wild 
horse,  which,  however,  had  galloped  off  with  a  speed  that  defied 
pursuit. 

Confident  anticipations  were  now  indulged,  that  on  the  fol 
lowing  day  we  should  meet  with  buffalo,  and  perhaps  with  wild 
horses,  and  every  one  was  in  spirits.  "We  needed  some  excite 
ment  of  the  kind,  for  our  young  men  were  growing  weary  of 
marching  and  encamping  under  restraint,  and  provisions  this  day 
were  scanty.  The  Captain  and  several  of  the  rangers  went  out 
hunting,  but  brought  home  nothing  but  a  small  deer  and  a  few 
turkeys.  Our  two  men,  Beatte  arid  Tonish,  likewise  went  out. 
The  former  returned  with  a  deer  athwart  his  horse,  which,  as 
usual,  he  laid  down  by  our  lodge,  and  said  nothing.  Tonish 
returned  with  no  game,  but  with  his  customary  budget  of  won 
derful  tales.  Both  he  and  the  deer  had  done  marvels.  Not  one 
had  come  within  the  lure  of  his  rifle  without  being  hit  in  a  mortal 
part,  yet,  strange  to  say,  every  one  had  kept  on  his  way  without 
flinching.  We  all  determined  that,  from  the  accuracy  of  his  aim, 
Tonish  must  have  shot  with  charmed  balls,  but  that  every  deer 


104  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


had  a  charmed  life.  The  most  important  intelligence  brought  by 
him,  however,  was,  that  he  had  seen  the  fresh  tracks  of  several 
wild  horses.  He  now  considered  himself  upon  the  eve  of  great 
exploits,  for  there  was  nothing  upon  which  he  glorified  himself 
more  than  his  skill  in  horse-catching. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HUNTERS'  ANTICIPATIONS. — THE  RUGGED  FORD. — A  WILD  HORSE. 

OCT.  21.  This  morning  the  camp  was  in  a  bustle  at  an  early 
hour :  the  expectation  of  falling  in  with  buffalo  in  the  course  of 
the  day  roused  every  one's  spirit.  There  was  a  continual  crack 
ing  of  rifles,  that  they  might  be  reloaded :  the  shot  was  drawn  off 
from  double-barrelled  guns,  and  balls  were  substituted.  Tonish, 
however,  prepared  chiefly  for  a  campaign  against  wild  horses. 
He  took  the  field,  with  a  coil  of  cordage  hung  at  his  saddle-bow, 
and  a  couple  of  white  wands,  something  like  fishing-rods,  eight  or 
ten  feet  in  length,  with  forked  ends.  The  coil  of  cordage  thus 
used  in  hunting  the  wild  horse,  is  called  a  lariat,  and  answers  to 
the  laso  of  South  America.  It  is  not  flung,  however,  in  the 
graceful  and  dexterous  Spanish  style.  The  hunter,  after  a  hard 
chase,  when  he  succeeds  in  getting  almost  head  and  head  with 
the  wild  horse,  hitches  the  running  noose  of  the  lariat  over  his 
head  by  means  of  the  forked  stick ;  then  letting  him  have  the 
full  length  of  the  cord,  plays  him  like  a  fish,  and  chokes  him  into 
subjection. 

All  this  Tonish  promised  to  exemplify  to  our  full  satisfac- 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  105 


tion ;  we  had  not  much  confidence  in  his  success,  and  feared  he 
might  knock  up  a  good  horse  in  a  headlong  gallop  after  a  bad 
one :  for,  like  all  the  French  Creoles,  he  was  a  merciless  hard 
rider.  It  was  determined,  therefore,  to  keep  a  sharp  eye  upon 
him,  and  to  check  his  sallying  propensities. 

We  had  not  proceeded  far  on  our  morning's  march,  when  we 
were  checked  by  a  deep  stream,  running  along  the  bottom  of  a 
thickly-wooded  ravine.  After  coasting  it  for  a  couple  of  miles, 
we  came  to  a  fording  place ;  but  to  get  down  to  it  was  the  diffi 
culty,  for  the  banks  were  steep  and  crumbling,  and  overgrown 
with  forest  trees,  mingled  with  thickets,  brambles,  and  grape 
vines.  At  length  the  leading  horseman  broke  his  way  through 
the  thicket,  and  his  horse,  putting  his  feet  together,  slid  down 
the  black  crumbling  bank,  to  the  narrow  margin  of  the  stream ; 
then  floundering  across,  with  mud  and  water  up  to  the  saddle- 
girths,  he  scrambled  up  the  opposite  bank,  and  arrived  safe  on 
level  ground.  The  whole  line  followed  pell-mell  after  the  leader, 
and  pushing  forward  in  close  order,  Indian  file,  they  crowded 
each  other  down  the  bank  and  into  the  stream.  Some  of  the 
horsemen  missed  the  ford,  and  were  soused  over  head  and  ears ; 
one  was  unhorsed,  and  plumped  head  foremost  into  the  middle 
of  the  stream :  for  my  own  part,  while  pressed  forward,  and  hur 
ried  over  the  bank  by  those  behind  me,  I  was  interrupted  by  a 
grape-vine,  as  thick  as  a  cable,  which  hung  in  a  festoon  as  low  as 
the  saddle-bow,  and,  dragging  me  from  the  saddle,  threw  me 
among  the  feet  of  the  trampling  horses.  Fortunately,  I  escaped 
without  injury,  regained  my  steed,  crossed  the  stream  without 
further  difficulty,  and  was  enabled  to  join  in  the  merriment 
occasioned  by  the  ludicrous  disasters  of  the  fording. 

It  is  at  passes  like  this  that  occur  the  most  dangerous  am- 
5* 


106  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


buscades  and  sanguinary  surprises  of  Indian  warfare.  A  party 
of  savages  well  placed  among  the  thickets,  might  have  made  sad 
havoc  among  our  men,  while  entangled  in  the  ravine. 

We  now  came  out  upon  a  vast  and  glorious  prairie,,  spreading 
out  beneath  the  golden  beams  of  an  autumnal  sun.  The  deep 
and  frequent  traces  of  buffalo,  showed  it  to  be  one  of  their 
favorite  grazing  grounds  ;  yet  none  were  to  be  seen.  In  the 
course  of  the  morning,  we  were  overtaken  by  the  lieutenant  and 
seventeen  men,  who  had  remained  behind,  and  who  came  laden 
with  the  spoils  of  buffaloes  ;  having  killed  three  on  the  preceding 
day.  One  of  the  rangers,  however,  had  little  luck  to  boast  of; 
his  horse  having  taken  fright  at  sight  of  the  buffaloes,  thrown 
his  rider,  and  escaped  into  the  woods. 

The  excitement  of  our  hunters,  both  young  and  old,  now  rose 
almost  to  fever  height ;  scarce  any  of  them  having  ever  encoun 
tered  any  of  this  far-famed  game  of  the  prairies.  Accordingly, 
when  in  the  course  of  the  day  the  cry  of  buffalo  !  buffalo  !  rose 
from  one  part  of  the  line,  the  whole  troop  were  thrown  in  agita 
tion.  We  were  just  then  passing  through  a  beautiful  part  of  the 
prairie,  finely  diversified  by  hills  and  slopes,  and  woody  dells,  and 
high,  stately  groves.  Those  who  had  given  the  alarm,  pointed 
out  a  large  black-looking  animal,  slowly  moving  along  the  side 
of  a  rising  ground,  about  two  miles  off.  The  ever-ready  Tonish 
jumped  up,  and  stood  with  his  feet  on  the  saddle,  and  his  forked 
sticks  in  his  hands,  like  a  posture-master  or  scaramouch  at  a 
circus,  just  ready  for  a  feat  of  horsemanship.  After  gazing  at 
the  animal  for  a  moment,  which  he  could  have  seen  full  as  well 
without  rising  from  his  stirrups,  he  pronounced  it  a  wild  horse ; 
and  dropping  again  into  his  saddle,  was  about  to  dash  off  full 
tilt  in  pursuit,  when,  to  his  inexpressible  chagrin,  he  was  called 


A  TOUR   ON    THE   PRAIRIES.  107 

back,  and  ordered  to  keep  to  his  post,  in  rear  of  the  baggage 
horses. 

The  Captain  and  two  of  his  officers  now  set  off  to  reconnoitre 
the  game.  It  was  the  intention  of  the  Captain,  who  was  an 
admirable  marksman,  to  endeavor  to  crease  the  horse  ;  that  is  to 
say,  to  hit  him  with  a  rifle  ball  in  the  ridge  of  the  neck.  A 
wound  of  this  kind  paralyzes  a  horse  for  a  moment ;  he  falls  to 
the  ground,  and  may  be  secured  before  he  recovers.  It  is  a  cruel 
expedient,  however,  for  an  ill-directed  shot  may  kill  or  maim  the 
noble  animal. 

As  the  Captain  and  his  companions  moved  off  laterally  and 
slowly,  in  the  direction  of  the  horse,  we  continued  our  course 
forward;  watching  intently,  however,  the  movements  of  the 
game.  The  horse  moved  quietly  over  the  profile  of  the  rising 
ground,  and  disappeared  behind  it.  The  Captain  and  his  party 
were  likewise  soon  hidden  by  an  intervening  hill. 

After  a  time,  the  horse  suddenly  made  his  appearance  to  our 
right,  just  ahead  of  the  line,  emerging  out  of  a  small  valley,  on 
a  brisk  trot :  having  evidently  taken  the  alarm.  At  sight  of  us, 
he  stopped  short,  gazed  at  us  for  an  instant  with  surprise,  then 
tossing  up  his  head,  trotted  off  in  fine  style,  glancing  at  us  first 
over  one  shoulder,  then  over  the  other,  his  ample  mane  and  tail 
streaming  in  the  wind.  Having  dashed  through  a  skirt  of 
thicket,  that  looked  like  a  hedge-row,  he  paused  in  the  open  field 
beyond,  glanced  back  at  us  again,  with  a  beautiful  bend  of  the 
neck,  snuffed  the  air,  and  then  tossing  his  head  again,  broke  into 
a  gallop,  and  took  refuge  in  a  wood. 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  seen  a  horse  scouring 
his  native  wilderness  in  all  the  pride  and  freedom  of  his 
nature.  How  different  from  the  poor,  mutilated,  harnessed,  ^ 


108  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


checked,  reined-up  victim  of  luxury,  caprice,  and  avarice,  in  our 
cities  ! 

After  travelling  about  fifteen  miles,  we  encamped  about  one 
o'clock,  that  our  hunters  might  have  time  to  procure  a  supply  of 
provisions.  Our  encampment  was  in  a  spacious  grove  of  lofty 
oaks  and  walnuts,  free  from  under  wood,  on  the  border  of  a 
brook.  While  unloading  the  pack-horses,  our  little  Frenchman 
was  loud  in  his  complaints  at  having  been  prevented  from  pursu 
ing  the  wild  horse,  which  he  would  certainly  have  taken.  In  the 
meantime,  I  saw  our  half-breed,  Beatte,  quietly  saddle  his  best 
horse,  a  powerful  steed  of  a  half-savage  race,  hang  a  lariat  at  the 
saddle-bow,  take  a  rifle  and  forked  stick  in  hand,  and,  mounting, 
depart  from  the  camp  without  saying  a  word.  It  was  evident  he 
was  going  off  in  quest  of  the  wild  horse,  but  was  disposed  to  hunt 
alone. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   CAMP    OF    THE    WILD   HORSE. 

HUNTERS'  STORIES. — HABITS  OF  THE  WILD  HORSE. — THE  HALF-BREED 
AND  HIS  PRIZE. A  HORSE  CHASE. A  WILD  SPIRIT  TAMED. 

WE  had  encamped  in  a  good  neighborhood  for  game,  as  the  re 
ports  of  rifles  in  various  directions  speedily  gave  notice.  One 
of  our  hunters  soon  returned  with  the  meat  of  a  doe,  tied  up  in 
the  skin,  and  slung  across  his  shoulders.  Another  brought  a  fat 
buck  across  his  horse.  Two  other  deer  were  brought  in,  and  a 
number  of  turkeys.  All  the  game  was  thrown  down  in  front  of 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  109 


the  Captain's  fire,  to  be  portioned  out  among  the  various  messes. 
The  spits  and  camp  kettles  were  soon  in  full  employ,  and  through 
out  the  evening  there  was  a  scene  of  hunters'  feasting  and  pro 
fusion. 

We  had  been  disappointed  this  day  in  our  hopes  of  meeting 
with  buffalo,  but  the  sight  of  the  wild  horse  had  been  a  great 
novelty,  and  gave  a  turn  to  the  conversation  of  the  camp  for  the 
evening.  There  were  several  anecdotes  told  of  a  famous  gray 
horse,  which  has  ranged  the  prairies  of  this  neighborhood  for  six 
or  seven  years,  setting  .at  naught  every  attempt  of  the  hunters 
to  capture  him.  They  say  he  can  pace  and  rack  (or  amble)  faster 
than  the  fleetest  horses  can  run.  Equally  marvellous  accounts 
were  given  of  a  black  horse  on  the  Brasses,  who  grazed  the 
prairies  on  that  river's  banks  in  the  Texas.  For  years  he  out 
stripped  all  pursuit.  His  fame  spread  far  and  wide ;  offers  were 
made  for  him  to  the  amount  of  a  thousand  dollars ;  the  boldest 
and  most  hard-riding  hunters  tried  incessantly  to  make  prize  of 
him,  but  in  vain.  At  length  he  fell  a  victim  to  his  gallantry, 
being  decoyed  under  a  tree  by  a  tame  mare,  and  a  noose  dropped 
over  his  head  by  a  boy  perched  among  the  branches. 

The  capture  of  the  wild  horse  is  one  of  the  most  favorite 
achievements  of  the  prairie  tribes ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  from  this 
source  that  the  Indian  hunters  chiefly  supply  themselves.  The 
wild  horses  which  range  those  vast  grassy  plains,  extending  from 
the  Arkansas  to  the  Spanish  settlements,  are  of  various  forms 
and  colors,  betraying  their  various  descents.  Some  resemble  the 
common  English  stock,  and  are  probably  descended  from  horses 
which  have  escaped  from  our  border  settlements.  Others  are  of 
a  low  but  strong  make,  and  are  supposed  to  be  of  the  Andalusian 
breed,  brought  out  by  the  Spanish  discoverers. 


110  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


Some  fanciful  speculatists  have  seen  in  them  descendants  of 
the  Arab  stock,  brought  into  Spain  from  Africa,  and  thence 
transferred  to  this  country ;  and  have  pleased  themselves  with 
the  idea,  that  their  sires  may  have  been  of  the  pure  coursers  of 
the  desert,  that  once  bore  Mahomet  and  his  warlike  disciples 
across  the  sandy  plains  of  Arabia. 

The  habits  of  the  Arab  seem  to  have  come  with  the  steed. 
The  introduction  of  the  horse  on  the  boundless  prairies  of  the 
Far  West,  changed  the  whole  mode  of  living  of  their  inhabitants. 
It  gave  them  that  facility  of  rapid  motion,  and  of  sudden  and 
distant  change  of  place,  so  dear  to  the  roving  propensities  of  man. 
Instead  of  lurking  in  the  depths  of  gloomy  forests,  and  patiently 
threading  the  mazes  of  a  tangled  wilderness  on  foot,  like  his 
brethren  of  the  north,  the  Indian  of  the  West  is  a  rover  of  the 
plain ;  he  leads  a  brighter  and  more  sunshiny  life  ;  almost  always 
on  horseback,  on  vast  flowery  prairies  and  under  cloudless  skies. 

I  was  lying  by  the  Captain's  fire,  late  in  the  evening,  listening 
to  stories  about  those  coursers  of  the  prairies,  and  weaving  specu 
lations  of  my  own,  when  there  was  a  clamor  of  voices  and  a  loud 
cheering  at  the  other  end  of  the  camp  ;  and  word  was  passed  that 
Beatte,  the  half-breed,  had  brought  in  a  wild  horse. 

In  an  instant  every  fire  was  deserted ;  the  whole  camp 
crowded  to  see  the  Indian  and  his  prize.  It  was  a  colt  about 
two  years  old,  well  grown,  finely  limbed,  with  bright  prominent 
eyes,  and  a  spirited  yet  gentle  demeanor.  He  gazed  about  him 
with  an  air  of  mingled  stupefaction  and  surprise,  at  the  men,  the 
horses,  and  the  camp-fires ;  while  the  Indian  stood  before  him 
with  folded  arms,  having  hold  of  the  other  end  of  the  cord  which 
noosed  his  captive,  and  gazing  on  him  with  a  most  imperturbable 
aspect.  Beatte,  as  I  have  before  observed,  has  a  greenish  olive 


A   TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  Ill 


complexion,  with  a  strongly  marked  countenance,  not  unlike  the 
bronze  casts  of  Napoleon ;  and  as  he  stood  before  his  captive  *> 
horse,  with  folded  arms  and  fixed  aspect,  he  looked  more  like  a 
statue  than  a  man. 

If  the  horse,  however,  manifested  the  least  restiveness,  Beatte 
would  immediately  worry  him  with  the  lariat,  jerking  him  first  on 
one  side,  then  on  the  other,  so  as  almost  to  throw  him  on  the 
ground ;  when  he  had  thus  rendered  him  passive,  he  would  re 
sume  his  statue-like  attitude  and  gaze  at  him  in  silence. 

The  whole  scene  was  singularly  wild  ;  the  tall  grove,  partially 
illumined  by  the  flashing  fires  of  the  camp,  the  horses  tethered 
here  and  there  among  the  trees,  the  carcasses  of  deer  hanging 
around,  and  in  the  midst  of  all,  the  wild  huntsman  and  his  wild 
horse,  with  an  admiring  throng  of  rangers,  almost  as  wild. 

In  the  eagerness  of  their  excitement,  several  of  the  young 
rangers  sought  to  get  the  horse  by  purchase  or  barter,  and  even 
offered  extravagant  terms ;  but  Beatte  declined  all  their  offers. 
"  You  give  great  price  now  ;"  said  he,  "  to-morrow  you  be  sorry, 
and  take  back,  and  say  d — d  Indian  !" 

The  young  men  importuned  him  with  questions  about  the 
mode  in  which  he  took  the  horse,  but  his  answers  were  dry  and 
laconic ;  he  evidently  retained  some  pique  at  having  been  under 
valued  and  sneered  at  by  them  ;  and  at  the  same  time  looked 
down  upon  them  with  contempt  as  greenhorns,  little  versed  in 
the  noble  science  of  woodcraft. 

Afterwards,  however,  when  he  was  seated  by  our  fire,  I 
readily  drew  from  him  an  account  of  his  exploit ;  for,  though 
taciturn  among  strangers,  and  little  prone  to  boast  of  his  actions, 
yet  his  taciturnity,  like  that  of  all  Indians,  had  its  times  of  re 
laxation. 


112  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 

He  informed  me,  that  on  leaving  the  camp,  he  had  returned 
to  the  place  where  we  had  lost  sight  of  the  wild  horse.  Soon 
getting  upon  its  track,  he  followed  it  to  the  banks  of  the  river. 
Here,  the  prints  being  more  distinct  in  the  sand,  he  perceived 
that  one  of  the  hoofs  was  broken  and  defective,  so  he  gave  up  the 
pursuit. 

As  he  was  returning  to  the  camp,  he  came  upon  a  gang  of  six 
horses,  which  immediately  made  for  the  river.  He  pursued  them 
across  the  stream,  left  his  rifle  on  the  river  bank,  and  putting  his 
horse  to  full  speed,  soon  came  up  with  the  fugitives.  He  at 
tempted  to  noose  one  of  them,  but  the  lariat  hitched  on  one  of 
his  ears,  and  he  shook  it  off.  The  horses  dashed  up  a  hill,  he 
followed  hard  at  their  heels,  when,  of  a  sudden,  he  saw  their  tails 
whisking  in  the  air,  and  they  plunging  down  a  precipice.  It  was 
too  late  to  stop.  He  shut  his  eyes,  held  in  his  breath,  and  went 
over  with  them — neck  or  nothing.  The  descent  was  between 
twenty  and  thirty  feet,  but  they  all  came  down  safe  upon  a  sandy 
bottom. 

He  now  succeeded  in  throwing  his  noose  round  a  fine  young 
horse.  As  he  galloped  alongside  of  him,  the  two  horses  passed 
each  side  of  a  sapling,  and  the  end  of  the  lariat  was  jerked  out 
of  his  hand.  He  regained  it,  but  an  intervening  tree  obliged 
him  again  to  let  it  go.  Having  once  more  caught  it,  and  coming 
to  a  more  open  country,  he  was  enabled  to  play  the  young  horse 
with  the  line  until  he  gradually  checked  and  subdued  him,  so  as 
to  lead  him  to  the  place  where  he  had  left  his  rifle. 

He  had  another  formidable  difficulty  in  getting  him  across 
the  river,  where  both  horses  stuck  for  a  time  in  the  mire,  and 
Beatte  was  nearly  unseated  from  his  saddle  by  the  force  of  the 
current  and  the  struggles  of  his  captive.  After  much  toil  and 


A   TOUR   ON    THE   PRAIRIES.  113 


trouble,  however,  he  got  across  the  stream,  and  brought  his  prize 
safe  into  camp. 

For  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  the  camp  remained  in  a 
high  state  of  excitement ;  nothing  was  talked  of  but  the  capture 
of  wild  horses ;  every  youngster  of  the  troop  was  for  this  harum- 
scarum  kind  of  chase ;  every  one  promised  himself  to  return 
from  the  campaign  in  triumph,  bestriding  one  of  these  wild 
coursers  of  the  prairies.  Beatte  had  suddenly  risen  to  great 
importance  ;  he  was  the  prime  hunter,  the  hero  of  the  day. 
Offers  were  made  him  by  the  best  mounted  rangers,  to  let  him 
ride  their  horses  in  the  chase,  provided  he  would  give  them  a 
share  of  the  spoil.  Beatte  bore  his  honors  in  silence,  and  closed 
with  none  of  the  offers.  Our  stammering,  chattering,  gasconad 
ing  little  Frenchman,  however,  made  up  for  his  taciturnity,  by 
vaunting  as  much  upon  the  subject  as  if  it  were  he  that  had  caught 
the  horse.  Indeed  he  held  forth  so  learnedly  in  the  matter,  and 
boasted  so  much  of  the  many  horses  he  had  taken,  that  he  began 
to  be  considered  an  oracle  :  and  some  of  the  youngsters  were 
inclined  to  doubt  whether  he  were  not  superior  even  to  the  taci 
turn  Beatte. 

The  excitement  kept  the  camp  awake  later  than  usual.  The 
hum  of  voices,  interrupted  by  occasional  peals  of  laughter,  was 
heard  from  the  groups  around  the  various  fires,  and  the  night 
was  considerably  advanced  before  all  had  sunk  to  sleep. 

With  the  morning  dawn  the  excitement  revived,  and  Beatte 
and  his  wild  horse  were  again  the  gaze  and  talk  of  the  camp. 
The  captive  had  been  tied  all  night  to  a  tree  among  the  other 
horses.  He  was  again  led  forth  by  Beatte,  by  a  long  halter  or 
lariat,  and,  on  his  manifesting  the  least  restiveness,  was,  as  before, 
jerked  and  worried  into  passive  submission.  He  appeared  to  be 


114  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


gentle  and  docile  by  nature,  and  had  a  beautifully  mild  expres 
sion  of  the  eye.  In  his  strange  and  forlorn  situation,  the  poor 
animal  seemed  to  seek  protection  and  companionship  in  the  very 
horse  which  had  aided  to  capture  him. 

Seeing  him  thus  gentle  and  tractable,  Beatte,  just  as  we  were 
about  to  march,  strapped  a  light  pack  upon  his  back,  by  way  of 
giving  him  the  first  lesson  in  servitude.  The  native  pride  and 
independence  of  the  animal  took  fire  at  this  indignity.  He 
reared,  and  plunged,  and  kicked,  and  tried  in  every  way  to  get 
rid  of  the  degrading  burden.  The  Indian  was  too  potent  for 
him.  At  every  paroxysm  he  renewed  the  discipline  of  the  halter, 
until  the  poor  animal,  driven  to  despair,  threw  himself  prostrate 
on  the  ground,  and  lay  motionless,  as  if  acknowledging  himself 
vanquished.  A  stage  hero,  representing  the  despair  of  a  captive 
prince,  could  not  have  played  his  part  more  dramatically.  There 
was  absolutely  a  moral  grandeur  in  it. 

The  imperturbable  Beatte  folded  his  arms,  and  stood  for  a 
time,  looking  down  in  silence  upon  his  captive ;  until  seeing  him 
perfectly  subdued,  he  nodded  his  head  slowly,  screwed  his  mouth 
into  a  sardonic  smile  of  triumph,  and,  with  a  jerk  of  the  halter, 
ordered  him  to  rise.  He  obeyed,  and  from  that  time  forward 
offered  no  resistance.  During  that  day  he  bore  his  pack 
patiently,  and  was  led  by  the  halter  ;  but  in  two  days  he  followed 
voluntarily  at  large  among  the  supernumerary  horses  of  the 
troop. 

I  could  not  but  look  with  compassion  upon  this  fine  young 
animal,  whose  whole  course  of  existence  had  been  so  suddenly 
reversed.  From  being  a  denizen  of  these  vast  pastures,  ranging 
at  will  from  plain  to  plain  and  mead  to  mead,  cropping  of  every 
herb  and  flower,  and  drinking  of  every  stream,  he  was  suddenly 


A   TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  115 


reduced  to  perpetual  and  painful  servitude,  to  pass  his  life  under 
the  harness  and  the  curb,  amid,  perhaps,  the  din  and  dust  and 
drudgery  of  cities.  The  transition  in  his  lot  was  such  as  some 
times  takes  place  in  human  affairs,  and  in  the  fortunes  of  tower 
ing  individuals  : — one  day,  a  prince  of  the  prairies — the  next 
day,  a  pack-horse  ! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  FORDING  OF  THE  RED  FORK. THE  DREARY  FORESTS  OF  THE 

"  CROSS  TIMBER." BUFFALO  ! 

WE  left  the  camp  of  the  wild  horse  about  a  quarter  before  eight, 
and,  after  steering  nearly  south  for  three  or  four  miles,  arrived 
on  the  banks  of  the  Red  Fork,  about  seventy-five  miles,  as  we 
supposed,  above  its  mouth.  The  river  was  about  three  hundred 
yards  wide,  wandering  among  sand-bars  and  shoals.  Its  shores, 
and  the  long  sandy  banks  that  stretched  out  into  the  stream, 
were  printed,  as  usual,  with  the  traces  of  various  animals  that 
had  come  down  to  cross  it,  or  to  drink  its  waters. 

Here  we  came  to  a  halt,  and  there  was  much  consultation 
about  the  possibility  of  fording  the  river  with  safety,  as  there 
was  an  apprehension  of  quicksands.  Beatte,  who  had  been 
somewhat  in  the  rear,  came  up  while  we  were  debating.  He  was 
mounted  on  his  horse  of  the  half-wild  breed,  and  leading  his 
captive  by  the  bridle.  He  gave  the  latter  in  charge  to  Tonish, 
and  without  saying  a  word,  urged  his  horse  into  the  stream,  and 
crossed  it  in  safety.  Every  thing  was  done  by  this  man  in  a 


116  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


similar  way,  promptly,  resolutely,  and  silently,  without  a  previous 
promise  or  an  after  vaunt. 

The  troop  now  followed  the  lead  of  Beatte,  and  reached  the 
opposite  shore  without  any  mishap,  though  one  of  the  pack- 
horses  wandering  a  little  from  the  track,  came  near  being  swal 
lowed  up  in  a  quicksand,  and  was  with  difficulty  dragged  to  land. 

After  crossing  the  river,  we  had  to  force  our  way,  for  nearly 
a  mile,  through  a  thick  canebrake,  which,  at  first  sight,  appeared 
an  impervious  mass  of  reeds  and  brambles.  It  was  a  hard 
struggle  ;  our  horses  were  often  to  the  saddle-girths  in  mire  and 
water,  and  both  horse  and  horseman  harassed  and  torn  by  bush 
and  brier.  Falling,  however,  upon  a  buffalo  track,  we  at  length 
extricated  ourselves  from  this  morass,  and  ascended  a  ridge  of 
land,  where  we  beheld  a  beautiful  open  country  before  us  ;  while 
to  our  right,  the  belt  of  forest  land,  called  "  The  Cross  Timber," 
continued  stretching  away  to  the  southward,  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach.  We  soon  abandoned  the  open  country,  and  struck 
into  the  forest  land.  It  was  the  intention  of  the  Captain  to 
keep  on  southwest  by  south,  and  traverse  the  Cross  Timber 
diagonally,  so  as  to  come  out  upon  the  edge  of  the  great  western 
prairie.  By  thus  maintaining  something  of  a  southerly  direction, 
he  trusted,  while  he  crossed  the  belt  of  the  forest,  he  would  at 
the  same  time  approach  the  Bed  River. 

The  plan  of  the  Captain  was  judicious ;  but  he  erred  from 
not  being  informed  of  the  nature  of  the  country.  Had  he  kept 
directly  west,  a  couple  of  days  would  have  carried  us  through  the 
forest  land,  and  we  might  then  have  had  an  easy  course  along  the 
skirts  of  the  upper  prairies,  to  Red  River ;  by  going  diagonally, 
we  were  kept  for  many  weary  days  toiling  through  a  dismal  series 
of  rugged  forests. 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  117 

The  Cross  Timber  is  about  forty  miles  in  breadth,  and 
stretches  over  a  rough  country  of  rolling  hills,  covered  with  scat 
tered  tracts  of  post-oak  and  black-jack  ;  with  some  intervening 
valleys,  which,  at  proper  seasons,  would  afford  good  pasturage. 
It  is  very  much  cut  up  by  deep  ravines,  which,  in  the  rainy 
seasons,  are  the  beds  of  temporary  streams,  tributary  to  the  main 
rivers,  and  these  are  called  "branches."  The  whole  tract  may 
present  a  pleasant  aspect  in  the  fresh  time  of  the  year,  when  the 
ground  is  covered  with  herbage ;  when  the  trees  are  in  their 
green  leaf,  and  the  glens  are  enlivened  by  running  streams.  Un 
fortunately,  we  entered  it  too  late  in  the  season.  The  herbage 
was  parched  ;  the  foliage  of  the  scrubby  forests  was  withered ; 
the  whole  woodland  prospect,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  had  a 
brown  and  arid  hue.  The  fires  made  on  the  prairies  by  the  In 
dian  hunters,  had  frequently  penetrated  these  forests,  sweeping  in 
light  transient  flames  along  the  dry  grass,  scorching  and  calcining 
the  lower  twigs  and  branches  of  the  trees,  and  leaving  them  black 
and  hard,  so  as  to  tear  the  flesh  of  man  and  horse  that  had  to 
scramble  through  them.  I  shall  not  easily  forget  the  mortal  toil, 
and  the  vexations  of  flesh  and  spirit,  that  we  underwent  occa 
sionally,  in  our  wanderings  through  the  Cross  Timber.  It  was 
like  struggling  through  forests  of  cast  iron. 

After  a  tedious  ride  of  several  miles,  we  came  out  upon  an 
open  tract  of  hill  and  dale,  interspersed  with  woodland.  Here 
we  were  roused  by  the  cry  of  buffalo  !  buffalo  !  The  effect  was 
something  like  that  of  the  cry  of  a  sail !  a  sail !  at  sea.  It  was 
not  a  false  alarm.  Three  or  four  of  those  enormous  animals 
were  visible  to  our  sight  grazing  on  the  slope  of  a  distant  hill. 

There  was  a  general  movement  to  set  off  in  pursuit,  and  it 
was  with  some  difficulty  that  the  vivacity  of  the  younger  men  of 


118  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


the  troop  could  be  restrained.  Leaving  orders  that  the  line  of 
march  should  be  preserved,  the  Captain  and  two  of  his  officers 
departed  at  a  quiet  pace,  accompanied  by  Beatte,  and  by  the 
ever-forward  Tonish ;  for  it  was  impossible  any  longer  to  keep 
the  little  Frenchman  in  check,  being  half  crazy  to  prove  his  skill 
and  prowess  in  hunting  the  buffalo. 

The  intervening  hills  soon  hid  from  us  both  the  game  and  the 
huntsmen.  We  kept  on  our  course  in  quest  of  a  camping  place, 
which  was  difficult  to  be  found ;  almost  all  the  channels  of  the 
streams  being  dry,  and  the  country  being  destitute  of  fountain 
heads. 

After  proceeding  some  distance,  there  was  again  a  cry  of  buf 
falo,  and  two  were  pointed  out  on  a  hill  to  the  left.  The  Captain 
being  absent,  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  restrain  the  ardor  of 
the  young  hunters.  Away  several  of  them  dashed,  full  speed,  and 
soon  disappeared  among  the  ravines :  the  rest  kept  on,  anxious  to 
find  a  proper  place  for  encampment. 

Indeed  we  now  began  to  experience  the  disadvantages  of  the 
season.  The  pasturage  of  the  prairies  was  scanty  and  parched ; 
the  pea-vines  which  grew  in  the  woody  bottoms  were  withered, 
and  most  of  the  "  branches  "  or  streams  were  dried  up.  While 
wandering  in  this  perplexity,  we  were  overtaken  by  the  Captain 
and  all  his  party,  except  Tonish.  They  had  pursued  the  buffalo 
for  some  distance  without  getting  within  shot,  and  had  given  up 
the  chase,  being  fearful  of  fatiguing  their  horses,  or  being  led  off 
too  far  from  camp.  The  little  Frenchman,  however,  had  galloped 
after  them  at  headlong  speed,  and  the  last  they  saw  of  him,  he 
was  engaged,  as  it  were,  yard-arm  and  yard-arm,  with  a  great 
buffalo  bull,  firing  broadsides  into  him.  "  I  tink  dat  little  man 
crazy — somehow,"  observed  Beatte,  dryly. 


A  TOUR  ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  119 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    ALARM    CAMP. 

WE  now  came  to  a  halt,  and  had  to  content  ourselves  with  an 
indifferent  encampment.  It  was  in  a  grove  of  scrub-oaks,  on  the 
borders  of  a  deep  ravine,  at  the  bottom  of  which  were  a  few 
scanty  pools  of  water.  We  were  just  at  the  foot  of  a  gradually- 
sloping  hill,  covered  with  half-withered  grass,  that  afforded  mea 
gre  pasturage.  In  the  spot  where  we  had  encamped,  the  grass 
was  high  and  parched.  The  view  around  us  was  circumscribed 
and  much  shut  in  by  gently-swelling  hills. 

Just  as  we  were  encamping,,  Tonish  arrived,  all  glorious,  from 
his  hunting  match ;  his  white  horse  hung  all  round  with  buffalo 
meat.  According  to  his  own  account,  he  had  laid  low  two 
mighty  bulls.  As  usual,  we  deducted  one  half  from  his  boast 
ings  ;  but,  now  that  he  had  something  real  to  vaunt  about,  there 
was  no  restraining  the  valor  of  his  tongue. 

After  having  in  some  measure  appeased  his  vanity  by  boast 
ing  of  his  exploit,  he  informed  us  that  he  had  observed  the  fresh 
track  of  horses,  which,  from  various  circumstances,  he  suspected 
to  have  been  made  by  some  roving  band  of  Pawnees.  This 
caused  some  little  uneasiness.  The  young  men  who  had  left  the 
line  of  march  in  pursuit  of  the  two  buffaloes,  had  not  yet  rejoined 
us  :  apprehensions  were  expressed  that  they  might  be  waylaid 
and  attacked.  Our  veteran  hunter,  old  Ryan,  also,  immediately 
on  our  halting  to  encamp,  had  gone  off  on  foot,  in  company  with 
a  young  disciple.  "  Dat  old  man  will  have  his  brains  knocked 
out  by  de  Pawnees  yet,"  said  Beatte.  "  He  tink  he  know  every 
ting,  but  he  don't  know  Pawnees,  anyhow." 


120  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


Taking  his  rifle,  the  Captain  repaired  on  foot  to  reconnoitre 
the  country  from  the  naked  summit  of  one  of  the  neighboring 
hills.  In  the  meantime,  the  horses  were  hobbled  and  turned 
loose  to  graze ;  and  wood  was  cut,  and  fires  made,  to  prepare  the 
evening's  repast. 

Suddenly  there  was  an  alarm  of  fire  in  the  camp  !  The  flame 
from  one  of  the  kindling  fires  had  caught  to  the  tall  dry  grass  :  a 
breeze  was  blowing ;  there  was  danger  that  the  camp  would  soon 
be  wrapped  in  a  light  blaze.  "  Look  to  the  horses  !"  cried  one  ; 
"  drag  away  the  baggage  !"  cried  another.  "  Take  care  of  the 
rifles  and  powder-horns  !"  cried  a  third.  All  was  hurry-scurry 
and  uproar.  The  horses  dashed  wildly  about :  some  of  the  men 
snatched  away  rifles  and  powder-horns,  others  dragged  off  saddles 
and  saddle-bags.  Meantime,  no  one  thought  of  quelling  the  fire, 
nor  indeed  knew  how  to  quell  it.  Beatte,  however,  and  his  com 
rades  attacked  it  in  the  Indian  mode,  beating  down  the  edges  of 
the  fire  with  blankets  and  horse-cloths,  and  endeavoring  to  pre 
vent  its  spreading  among  the  grass ;  the  rangers  followed  their 
example,  and  in  a  little  while  the  flames  were  happily  quelled. 

The  fires  were  now  properly  kindled  on  places  from  which 
the  dry  grass  had  been  cleared  away.  The  horses  were  scattered 
about  a  small  valley,  and  on  the  sloping  hill-side,  cropping  the 
scanty  herbage.  Tonish  was  preparing  a  sumptuous  evening's 
meal  from  his  buffalo  meat,  promising  us  a  rich  soup  and  a  prime 
piece  of  roast  beef :  but  we  were  doomed  to  experience  another 
and  more  serious  alarm. 

There  was  an  indistinct  cry  from  some  rangers  on  the  sum 
mit  of  the  hill,  of  which  we  could  only  distinguish  the  words, 
"  The  horses  !  the  horses  !  get  in  the  horses  !" 

Immediately   a   clamor  of  voices    arose ;    shouts,   inquiries, 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  121 

replies,  were  all  mingled  together,  so  that  nothing  could  be 
clearly  understood,  and  every  one  drew  his  own  inference. 

"  The  Captain  has  started  buffaloes,"  cried  one,  "  and  wants 
horses  for  the  chase."  Immediately  a  number  of  rangers  seized 
their  rifles,  and  scampered  for  the  hill-top.  "  The  prairie  is  on 
fire  beyond  the  hill,"  cried  another ;  "  I  see  the  smoke — the  Cap 
tain  means  we  shall  drive  the  horses  beyond  the  brook." 

By  this  time  a  ranger  from  the  hill  had  reached  the  skirts  of 
the  camp.  He  was  almost  breathless,  and  could  only  say  that 
the  Captain  had  seen  Indians  at  a  distance. 

"  Pawnees  !  Pawnees  !"  was  now  the  cry  among  our  wild- 
headed  youngsters.  "  Drive  the  horses  into  the  camp  !"  cried 
one.  "  Saddle  the  horses  !"  cried  another.  "  Form  the  line  !" 
cried  a  third.  There  was  now  a  scene  of  clamor  and  confusion 
that  baffles  all  description.  The  rangers  were  scampering  about 
the  adjacent  field  in  pursuit  of  their  horses.  One  might  be 
seen  tugging  his  steed  along  by  a  halter ;  another  without  a  hat, 
riding  bare-backed ;  another  driving  a  hobbled  horse  before  him, 
that  made  awkward  leaps  like  a  kangaroo. 

The  alarm  increased.  Word  was  brought  from  the  lower  end 
of  the  camp  that  there  was  a  band  of  Pawnees  in  a  neighboring 
valley.  They  had  shot  old  Ryan  through  the  head,  and  were 
chasing  his  companion  !  "  No,  it  was  not  old  Ryan  that  was 
killed — it  was  one  of  the  hunters  that  had  been  after  the  two 
buffaloes."  "  There  are  three  hundred  Pawnees  just  beyond  the 
hill,"  cried  one  voice.  "  More,  more  !"  cried  another. 

Our  situation,  shut  in  among  hills,  prevented  our  seeing  to 
any  distance,  and  left  us  a  prey  to  all  these  rumors.  A  cruel 
enemy  was  supposed  to  be  at  hand,  and  an  immediate  attack 
apprehended.  The  horses  by  this  time  were  driven  into  the 

6 


122  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


camp,  and  were  dashing  about  among  the  fires,  and  trampling 
upon  the  baggage.  Every  one  endeavored  to  prepare  for  action ; 
but  here  was  the  perplexity.  During  the  late  alarm  of  fire,  the 
saddles,  bridles,  rifles,  powder-horns,  and  other  equipments,  had 
been  snatched  out  of  their  places,  and  thrown  helter-skelter 
among  the  trees. 

"  Where  is  my  saddle  ?"  cried  one.  "  Has  any  one  seen  my 
rifle  ?"  cried  another.  "  Who  will  lend  me  a  ball  ?"  cried  a  third, 
who  was  loading  his  piece.  "I  have  lost  my  bullet  pouch." 
"  For  God's  sake  help  me  to  girth  this  horse !"  cried  another ; 
"  he's  so  restive  I  can  do  nothing  with  him."  In  his  hurry  and 
worry,  he  had  put  on  the  saddle  the  hind  part  before  ! 

Some  affected  to  swagger  and  talk  bold  ;  others  said  nothing, 
but  went  on  steadily,  preparing  their  horses  and  weapons,  and 
on  these  I  felt  the  most  reliance.  Some  were  evidently  excited 
and  elated  with  the  idea  of  an  encounter  with  Indians ;  and 
none  more  so  than  my  young  Swiss  fellow  traveller,  who  had  a 
passion  for  wild  adventure.  Our  man,  Beatte,  led  his  horses  in 
the  rear  of  the  camp,  placed  his  rifle  against  a  tree,  then  seated 
himself  by  the  fire  in  perfect  silence.  On  the  other  hand,  little 
Tonish,  who  was  busy  cooking,  stopped  every  moment  from  his 
work  to  play  the  fanfaron,  singing,  swearing,  and  affecting  an 
unusual  hilarity,  which  made  me  strongly  suspect  that  there  was 
some  little  fright  at  bottom,  to  cause  all  this  effervescence. 

About  a  dozen  of  the  rangers,  as  soon  as  they  could  saddle 
their  horses,  dashed  off  in  the  direction  in  which  the  Pawnees 
were  said  to  have  attacked  the  hunters.  It  was  now  determined, 
in  case  our  camp  should  be  assailed,  to  put  our  horses  in  the 
ravine  in  rear,  where  they  would  be  out  of  danger  from  arrow  or 
rifle  ball,  and  to  take  our  stand  within  the  edge  of  the  ravine. 


A  TOUR   ON   THE    PRAIRIES.  123 


This  would  serve  as  a  trench,  and  the  trees  and  thickets  with 
which  it  was  bordered,  would  be  sufficient  to  turn  aside  any  shaft 
of  the  enemy.  The  Pawnees,  beside,  are  wary  of  'attacking  any 
covert  of  the  kind  ;  their  warfare,  as  I  have  already  observed, 
lies  in  the  open  prairie,  where,  mounted  upon  their  fleet 
horses,  they  can  swoop  like  hawks  upon  their  enemy,  or  wheel 
about  him  and  discharge  their  arrows.  Still  I  could  not  but 
perceive,  that,  in  case  of  being  attacked  by  such  a  number  of 
these  well-mounted  and  warlike  savages  as  were  said  to  be  at 
hand,  we  should  be  exposed  to  considerable  risk  from  the  inex 
perience  and  want  of  discipline  of  our  newly-raised  rangers,  and 
from  the  very  courage  of  many  of  the  younger  ones  who  seemed 
bent  on  adventure  and  exploit. 

By  this  time  the  Captain  reached  the  camp,  and  every  one 
crowded  round  him  for  information.  He  informed  us,  that  he 
had  proceeded  some  distance  on  his  reconnoitring  expedition, 
and  was  slowly  returning  towards  the  camp,  along  the  brow  of  a 
naked  hill,  when  he  saw  something  on  the  edge  of  a  parallel  hill, 
that  looked  like  a  man.  He  paused,  and  watched  it;  but  it 
remained  so  perfectly  motionless,  that  he  supposed  it  a  bush,  or 
the  top  of  some  tree  beyond  the  hill.  He  resumed  his  course, 
when  it  likewise  began  to  move  in  a  parallel  direction.  Another 
form  now  rose  beside  it,  of  some  one  who  had  either  been  lying 
down,  or  had  just  ascended  the  other  side  of  the  hill.  The  Cap 
tain  stopped  and  regarded  them  ;  they  likewise  stopped.  He 
then  lay  down  upon  the  grass,  and  they  began  to  walk.  On  his 
rising,  they  again  stopped,  as  if  watching  him.  Knowing  that 
the  Indians  are  apt  to  have  their  spies  and  sentinels  thus  posted 
on  the  summit  of  naked  hills,  commanding  extensive  prospects, 
his  doubts  were  increased  by  the  suspicious  movements  of  these 


124  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 

men.  He  now  put  his  foraging  cap  on  the  end  of  his  rifle,  and 
waved  it  in  the  air.  They  took  no  notice  of  the  signal.  He 
then  walked  on,  until  he  entered  the  edge  of  a  wood,  which  con 
cealed  him  from  their  view.  Stopping  out  of  sight  for  a  moment, 
he  again  looked  forth,  when  he  saw  the  two  men  passing  swiftly 
forward.  As  the  hill  on  which  they  were  walking  made  a  curve 
toward  that  on  which  he  stood,  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  endeav 
oring  to  head  him  before  he  should  reach  the  camp.  Doubting 
whether  they  might  not  belong  to  some  large  party  of  Indians, 
either  in  ambush  or  moving  along  the  valley  beyond  the  hill, 
the  Captain  hastened  his  steps  homeward,  and,  descrying  some 
rangers  on  an  eminence  between  him  and  the  camp,  he  called  out 
to  them  to  pass  the  word  to  have  the  horses  driven  in,  as  these 
are  generally  the  first  objects  of  Indian  depredation. 

Such  was  the  origin  of  the  alarm  which  had  thrown  the  camp 
in  commotion.  Some  of  those  who  heard  the  Captain's  narra 
tion,  had  no  doubt  that  the  men  on  the  hill  were  Pawnee  scouts, 
belonging  to  the  band  that  had  waylaid  the  hunters.  Distant 
shots  were  heard  at  intervals,  which  were  supposed  to  be  fired  by 
those  who  had  sallied  out  to  rescue  their  comrades.  Several 
more  rangers,  having  completed  their  equipments,  now  rode  forth 
in  the  direction  of  the  firing  ;  others  looked  anxious  and  uneasy. 

"  If  they  are  as  numerous  as  they  are  said  to  be,"  said  one, 
"  and  as  well  mounted  as  they  generally  are,  we  shall  be  a  bad 
match  for  them  with  our  jaded  horses." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  Captain,  "  we  have  a  strong  encampment, 
and  can  stand  a  siege." 

"  Ay,  but  they  may  set  fire  to  the  prairie  in  the  night,  and 
burn  us  out  of  our  encampment." 

"  We  will  then  set  up  a  counter-fire  !" 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  125 


The  word  was  now  passed  that  a  man  on  horseback  approached 
the  camp. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  hunters  !  It  is  Clements  !  He  brings 
buffalo  meat !"  was  announced  by  several  voices  as  the  horseman 
drew  near. 

It  was,  in  fact,  one  of  the  rangers  who  had  set  off  in  the 
morning  in  pursuit  of  the  two  buffaloes.  He  rode  into  the  camp, 
with  the  spoils  of  the  chase  hanging  round  his  horse,  and  followed 
by  his  companions,  all  sound  and  unharmed,  and  equally  well 
laden.  They  proceeded  to  give  an  account  of  a  grand  gallop 
they  had  had  after  the  two  buffaloes,  and  how  many  shots  it  had 
cost  them  to  bring  one  to  the  ground. 

"  Well,  but  the  Pawnees — the  Pawnees — where  are  the 
Pawnees  ?" 

«  What  Pawnees  ?" 

"  The  Pawnees  that  attacked  you." 

"  No  one  attacked  us." 

"  But  have  you  seen  no  Indians  on  your  way?" 

"  Oh  yes,  two  of  us  got  to  the  top  of  a  hill  to  look  out  for  the 
camp,  and  saw  a  fellow  on  an  opposite  hill  cutting  queer  antics, 
who  seemed  to  be  an  Indian." 

"  Pshaw  !  that  was  I !"  said  the  Captain. 

Here  the  bubble  burst.  The  whole  alarm  had  risen  from 
this  mutual  mistake  of  the  Captain  and  the  two  rangers.  As  to 
the  report  of  the  three  hundred  Pawnees  and  their  attack  on  the 
hunters,  it  proved  to  be  a  wanton  fabrication,  of  which  no  further 
notice  was  taken ;  though  the  author  deserved  to  have  been 
sought  out,  and  severely  punished. 

There  being  no  longer  any  prospect  of  fighting,  every  one  now 
thought  of  eating ;  and  here  the  stomachs  throughout  the  camp 


126  CRAYON    MISCELLANY. 


were  in  unison.  Tonish  served  up  to  us  his  promised  regale  of 
buffalo  soup  and  buffalo  beef.  The  soup  was  peppered  most  hor 
ribly,  and  the  roast  beef  proved  the  bull  to  have  been  one  of  the 
patriarchs  of  the  prairies  ;  never  did  I  have  to  deal  with  a  tougher 
morsel.  However,  it  was  our  first  repast  on  buffalo  meat,  so  we 
ate  it  with  a  lively  faith :  nor  would  our  little  Frenchman  allow 
us  any  rest,  until  he  had  extorted  from  us  an  acknowledgment 
of  the  excellence  of  his  cookery  ;  though  the  pepper  gave  us  the 
lie  in  our  throats. 

The  night  closed  in  without  the  return  of  old  Ryan  and  his 
companion,  We  had  become  accustomed,  however,  to  the  aberra 
tions  of  this  old  cock  of  the  woods,  and  no  further  solicitude  was 
expressed  on  his  account. 

After  the  fatigues  and  agitations  of  the  day,  the  camp  soon 
sunk  into  a  profound  sleep,  excepting  those  on  guard,  who  were 
more  than  usually  on  the  alert ;  for  the  traces  recently  seen  of 
Pawnees,  and  the  certainty  that  we  were  in  the  midst  of  their 
hunting  grounds,  excited  to  constant  vigilance.  About  half  past 
ten  o'clock  we  were  all  startled  from  sleep,  by  a  new  alarm.  A 
sentinel  had  fired  off  his  rifle  and  run  into  camp,  crying  that 
there  were  Indians  at  hand. 

Every  one  was  on  his  legs  in  an  instant.  Some  seized  their 
rifles  ;  some  were  about  to  saddle  their  horses  ;  some  hastened  to 
the  Captain's  lodge,  but  were  ordered  back  to  their  respective 
fires.  The  sentinel  was  examined.  He  declared  he  had  seen  an 
Indian  approach,  crawling  along  the  ground ;  whereupon  he  had 
fired  upon  him,  and  run  into  camp.  The  Captain  gave  it  as  his 
opinion,  that  the  supposed  Indian  was  a  wolf;  he  reprimanded 
the  sentinel  for  deserting  his  post,  and  obliged  him  to  return  to 
it.  Many  seemed  inclined  to  give  credit  to  the  story  of  the 


A  TOUR   ON    THE   PRAIRIES.  127 


sentinel ;  for  the  events  of  the  day  had  predisposed  them  to  appre 
hend  lurking  foes  and  sudden  assaults  during  the  darkness  of  the 
night.  For  a  long  time  they  sat  round  their  fires,  with  rifle  in 
hand,  carrying  on  low,  murmuring  conversations,  and  listening 
for  some  new  alarm.  Nothing  further,  however,  occurred ;  the 
voices  gradually  died  away ;  the  gossipers  nodded  and  dozed,  and 
sunk  to  rest ;  and,  by  degrees,  silence  and  sleep  once  more  stole 
over  the  camp. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

BEAVER  DAM. BUFFALO    AND    HORSE    TRACKS. A  PAWNEE    TRAIL. 

WILD    HORSES. THE    YOUNG    HUNTER    AND    THE    BEAR. CHANGE 

OF    ROUTE. 

ON  mustering  our  forces  in  the  morning,  (Oct.  23,)  old  Ryan  and 
his  comrade  were  still  missing  ;  but,  the  Captain  had  such  perfect 
reliance  on  the  skill  and  resources  of  the  veteran  woodsman,  that 
he  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  take  any  measures  with  respect 
to  him.  ;  *"*• 

Our  march  this  day  lay  through  the  same  kind  of  rough  roll 
ing  country  ;  checkered  by  brown  dreary  forests  of  post-oak,  and 
cut  up  by  deep  dry  ravines.  The  distant  fires  were  evidently  in 
creasing  on  the  prairies.  The  wind  had  been  at  northwest  for 
several  days ;  and  the  atmosphere  had  become  so  smoky,  as  in 
the  height  of  Indian  summer,  that  it  was  difficult  to  distinguish 
objects  at  any  distance. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning,  we  crossed  a  deep  stream 
with  a  complete  beaver  dam,  above  three  feet  high,  making  a 


128  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


large  pond,  and  doubtless  containing  several  families  of  that  in 
dustrious  animal,  though  not  one  showed  his  nose  above  water. 
The  Captain  would  not  permit  this  amphibious  commonwealth  to 
be  disturbed. 

We  were  now  continually  coming  upon  the  tracks  of  buffaloes 
and  wild  horses  ;  those  of  the  former,  tended  invariably  to  the 
south,  as  we  could  perceive  by  the  direction  of  the  trampled 
grass.  It  was  evident,  we  were  on  the  great  highway  of  these 
migratory  herds,  but  that  they  had  chiefly  passed  to  the  south 
ward. 

Beatte,  who  generally  kept  a  parallel  course  several  hundred 
yards  distant  from  our  line  of  march,  to  be  on  the  look-out  for 
game,  and  who  regarded  every  track  with  the  knowing  eye  of  an 
Indian,  reported  that  he  had  come  upon  a  very  suspicious  trail. 
There  were  the  tracks  of  men  who  wore  Pawnee  moccasons.  He 
had  scented  the  smoke  of  mingled  sumach  and  tobacco,  such  as  the 
Indians  use.  He  had  observed  tracks  of  horses,  mingled  with 
those  of  a  dog ;  and  a  mark  in  the  dust  where  a  cord  had  been 
trailed  along  ;  probably  the  long  bridle,  one  end  of  which  the 
Indian  horsemen  suffer  to  trail  on  the  ground.  It  was  evident, 
they  were  not  the  tracks  of  wild  horses.  My  anxiety  began  to 
revive  about  the  safety  of  our  veteran  hunter  Ryan,  for  I  had 
taken  a  great  fancy  to  this  real  old  Leather  stocking  ;  every  one 
expressed  a  confidence,  however,  that  wherever  Ryan  was,  he  was 
safe,  and  knew  how  to  take  care  of  himself. 

We  had  accomplished  the  greater  part  of  a  weary  day's 
march,  and  were  passing  through  a  glade  of  the  oak  openings, 
when  we  came  in  sight  of  six  wild  horses,  among  which  I  espe 
cially  noticed  two  very  handsome  ones,  a  gray  and  a  roan.  They 
pranced  about,  with  heads  erect,  and  long  flaunting  tails,  offering 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  129 


a  proud  contrast  to  our  poor,  spiritless,  travel-tired  steeds. 
Having  reconnoitred  us  for  a  moment,  they  set  off  at  a  gallop, 
passed  through  a  woody  dingle,  and  in  a  little  while  emerged 
once  more  to  view,  trotting  up  a  slope  about  a  mile  distant. 

The  sight  of  these  horses  was  again  a  sore  trial  to  the  vapor 
ing  Tonish,  who  had  his  lariat  and  forked  stick  ready,  and  was  on 
the  point  of  launching  forth  in  pursuit,  on  his  jaded  horse,  when 
he  was  again  ordered  back  to  the  pack-horses. 

After  a  day's  journey  of  fourteen  miles  in  a  southwest  direc 
tion,  we  encamped  on  the  banks  of  a  small  clear  stream,  on  the 
northern  border  of  the  Cross  Timbers ;  and  on  the  edge  of  those 
vast  prairies,  that  extend  away  to  the  foot  of  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains.  In  turning  loose  the  horses  to  graze,  their  bells  were 
stuffed  with  grass  to  prevent  their  tinkling,  lest  it  might  be  heard 
by  some  wandering  horde  of  Pawnees. 

Our  hunters  now  went  out  in  different  directions,  but  without 
much  success,  as  but  one  deer  was  brought  into  the  camp.  A 
young  ranger  had  a  long  story  to  tell  of  his  adventures.  In 
skirting  the  thickets  of  a  deep  ravine  he  had  wounded  a  buck, 
which  he  plainly  heard  to  fall  among  the  bushes.  He  stopped  to 
fix  the  lock  of  his  rifle,  which  was  out  of  order,  and  to  reload  it : 
then  advancing  to  the  edge  of  the  thicket,  in  quest  of  his  game, 
he  heard  a  low  growling.  Putting  the  branches  aside,  and  steal 
ing  silently  forward,  he  looked  down  into  the  ravine  and  beheld 
a  huge  bear  dragging  the  carcass  of  the  deer  along  the  dry  chan 
nel  of  a  brook,  and  growling  and  snarling  at  four  or  five  officious 
wolves,  who  seemed  to  have  dropped  in  to  take  supper  with  him. 

The  ranger  fired  at  the  bear,  but  missed  him.  Bruin  main 
tained  his  ground  and  his  prize,  and  seemed  disposed  to  make  bat 
tle.  The  wolves,  too,  who  were  evidently  sharp  set,  drew  off  to  but 

6* 


130  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


a  small  distance.  As  night  was  coming  on,  the  young  hunter  felt 
dismayed  at  the  wildness  and  darkness  of  the  place,  and  the 
strange  company  he  had  fallen  in  with ;  so  he  quietly  withdrew, 
and  returned  empty  handed  to  the  camp,  where,  having  told  his 
story,  he  was  heartily  bantered  by  his  more  experienced  com 
rades. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  old  Ryan  came  straggling  into 
the  camp,  followed  by  his  disciple,  and  as  usual  was  received  with 
hearty  gratulations.  He  had  lost  himself  yesterday,  when  hunt 
ing,  and  camped  out  all  night,  but  had  found  our  trail  in  the 
morning,  and  followed  it  up.  He  had  passed  some  time  at  the 
beaver  dam,  admiring  the  skill  and  solidity  with  which  it  had  been 
constructed.  "  These  beavers,"  said  he,  "  are  industrious  little 
fellows.  They  are  the  knowingest  varment  as  I  know ;  and  I'll 
warrant  the  pond  was  stocked  with  them." 

"  Aye,"  said  the  Captain,  "  I  have  no  doubt  most  of  the  small 
rivers  we  have  passed  are  full  of  beaver.  I  would  like  to  come 
and  trap  on  these  waters  all  winter." 

"  But  would  you  not  run  the  chance  of  being  attacked  by  In 
dians  ?"  asked  one  of  the  company. 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  it  would  be  safe  enough  here,  in  the  winter 
time.  There  would  be  no  Indians  here  until  spring.  I  should 
want  no  more  than  two  companions.  Three  persons  are  safer  than 
a  large  number  for  trapping  beaver.  They  can  keep  quiet,  and 
need  seldom  fire  a  gun.  A  bear  would  serve  them  for  food,  for 
two  months,  taking  care  to  turn  every  part  of  it  to  advantage." 

A  consultation  was  now  held  as  to  our  future  progress.  We 
had  thus  far  pursued  a  western  course  ;  and,  having  traversed  the 
Cross  Timber,  were  on  the  skirts  of  the  Great  Western  Prairie. 
We  were  still,  however,  in  a  very  rough  country,  where  food 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  131 


was  scarce.  The  season  was  so  far  advanced  that  the  grass  was 
withered,  and  the  prairies  yielded  no  pasturage.  The  pea-vines 
of  the  bottoms,  also,  which  had  sustained  our  horses  for  some 
part  of  the  journey,  were  nearly  gone,  and  for  several  days  past 
the  poor  animals  had  fallen  off  wofully  both  in  flesh  and  spirit. 
The  Indian  fires  on  the  prairies  were  approaching  us  from  north, 
and  south,  and  west ;  they  might  spread  also  from  the  east,  and 
leave  a  scorched  desert  between  us  and  the  frontier,  in  which  our 
horses  might  be  famished. 

It  was  determined,  therefore,  to  advance  no  further  to  the 
westward,  but  to  shape  our  course  more  to  the  east,  so  as  to  strike 
the  north  fork  of  the  Canadian,  as  soon  as  possible,  where  we 
hoped  to  find  abundance  of  young  cane  ;  which,  at  this  season  of 
the  year,  affords  the  most  nutritious  pasturage  for  the  horses ; 
and,  at  the  same  time,  attracts  immense  quantities  of  game. 
Here  then  we  fixed  the  limits  of  our  tour  to  the  Far  West,  being 
within  little  more  than  a  day's  march  of  the  boundary  line  of 
Texas. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

SCARCITY"   OF    BREAD. RENCONTRE    WITH     BUFFALOES. WILD     TUR 
KEYS. FALL    OF    A    BUFFALO    BULL. 

THE  morning  broke  bright  and  clear,  but  the  camp  had  nothing 
of  its  usual  gayety.  The  concert  of  the  farmyard  was  at  an 
end  ;  not  a  cock  crew,  nor  dog  barked  ;  nor  was  there  either 
singing  or  laughing ;  every  one  pursued  his  avocations  quietly 
and  gravely.  The  novelty  of  the  expedition  was  wearing  off. 


132  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


Some  of  the  young  men  were  getting  as  way-worn  as  their  hor 
ses  ;  and  most  of  them,  unaccustomed  to  the  hunter's  life,  began 
to  repine  at  its  privations.  What  they  most  felt  was  the  want 
of  bread,  their  rations  of  flour  having  been  exhausted  for  several 
days.  The  old  hunters,  who  had  often  experienced  this  want, 
made  light  of  it ;  and  Beatte,  accustomed  when  among  the  Indians 
to  live  for  months  without  it,  considered  it  a  mere  article  of  lux 
ury.  "  Bread,"  he  would  say  scornfully,  "  is  only  fit  for  a 
child." 

About  a  quarter  before  eight  o'clock,  we  turned  our  backs 
upon  the  Far  West,  and  set  off  in  a  southeast  course,  along  a 
gentle  valley.  After  riding  a  few  miles,  Beatte,  who  kept  parallel 
with  us,  along  the  ridge  of  a  naked  hill  to  our  right,  called  out 
and  made  signals,  as  if  something  were  coming  round  the  hill  to 
intercept  us.  Some  who  were  near  me  cried  out  that  it  was  a 
party  of  Pawnees.  A  skirt  of  thickets  hid  the  approach  of  the 
supposed  enemy  from  our  view.  We  heard  a  trampling  among 
the  brushwood.  My  horse  looked  toward  the  place,  snorted  and 
pricked  up  his  ears,  when  presently  a  couple  of  large  huge  buffalo 
bulls,  who  had  been  alarmed  by  Beatte,  came  crashing  through 
the  brake,  and  making  directly  towards  us.  At  sight  of  us  they 
wheeled  round,  and  scuttled  along  a  narrow  defile  of  the  hill. 
In  an  instant  half  a  score  of  rifles  cracked  off ;  there  was  a  uni 
versal  whoop  and  halloo,  and  away  went  half  the  troop,  helter- 
skelter  in  pursuit,  and  myself  among  the  number.  The  most  of 
us  soon  pulled  up,  and  gave  over  a  chase  which  led  through  birch 
and  brier,  and  break-neck  ravines.  Some  few  of  the  rangers  per 
sisted  for  a  time  ;  but  eventually  joined  the  line,  slowly  lagging 
one  after  another.  One  of  them  returned  on  foot ;  he  had  been 
thrown  while  in  full  chase  ;  his  rifle  had  been  broken  in  the  fall, 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  133 


and  his  horse,  retaining  the  spirit  of  the  rider,  had  kept  on  after 
the  buffalo.  It  was  a  melancholy  predicament  to  be  reduced  to ; 
without  horse  or  weapon  in  the  midst  of  the  Pawnee  hunting 
grounds. 

For  my  own  part,  I  had  been  fortunate  enough  recently,  by 
a  further  exchange,  to  get  possession  of  the  best  horse  in  the 
troop  ;  a  full-blooded  sorrel  of  excellent  bottom,  beautiful  form, 
and  most  generous  qualities. 

In  such  a  situation,  it  almost  seems  as  if  a  man  changes  his 
nature  with  his  horse.  I  felt  quite  like  another  being,  now  that 
I  had  an  animal  under  me,  spirited  yet  gentle,  docile  to  a  re 
markable  degree,  and  easy,  elastic,  and  rapid  in  all  his  movements. 
In  a  few  days  he  became  almost  as  much  attached  to  me  as  a  dog  ; 
would  follow  me  when  I  dismounted,  would  come  to  me  in  the 
morning  to  be  noticed  and  caressed  ;  and  would  put  his  muzzle 
between  me  and  my  book,  as  I  sat  reading  at  the  foot  of  a  tree. 
The  feeling  I  had  for  this  my  dumb  companion  of  the  prairies, 
gave  me  some  faint  idea  of  that  attachment  the  Arab  is  said  to 
entertain  for  the  horse  that  has  borne  him  about  the  deserts. 

After  riding  a  few  miles  further,  we  came  to  a  fine  meadow 
with  a  broad  clear  stream  winding  through  it,  on  the  banks  of 
which  there  was  excellent  pasturage.  Here  we  at  once  came  to 
a  halt,  in  a  beautiful  grove  of  elms,  on  the  site  of  an  old  Osage 
encampment.  Scarcely  had  we  dismounted,  when  a  universal 
firing  of  rifles  took  place  upon  a  large  flock  of  turkeys,  scattered 
about  the  grove,  which  proved  to  be  a  favorite  roosting-place  for 
these  simple  birds.  They  flew  to  the  trees,  and  sat  perched  upon 
their  branches,  stretching  out  their  long  necks,  and  gazing  in 
stupid  astonishment,  until  eighteen  of  them  were  shot  down. 

In  the  height  of  the  carnage,  word  was  brought  that  there 


134  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


were  four  buffaloes  in  a  neighboring  meadow.  The  turkeys  were 
now  abandoned  for  nobler  game.  The  tired  horses  were  again 
mounted,  and  urged  to  the  chase.  In  a  little  while  we  came  in 
sight  of  the  buffaloes,  looking  like  brown  hillocks  among  the  long 
green  herbage.  Beatte  endeavored  to  get  ahead  of  them  and  turn 
them  towards  us,  that  the  inexperienced  hunters  might  have  a 
chance.  They  ran  round  the  base  of  a  rocky  hill,  that  hid  us 
from  the  sight.  Some  of  us  endeavored  to  cut  across  the  hill, 
but  became  entrapped  in  a  thick  wood,  matted  with  grape-vines. 
My  horse, -who,  under  his  former  rider  had  hunted  the  buffalo, 
seemed  as  much  excited  as  myself,  and  endeavored  to  force  his 
way  through  the  bushes.  At  length  we  extricated  ourselves,  and 
galloping  over  the  hill,  I  found  our  little  Frenchman  Tonish, 
curvetting  on  horseback  round  a  great  buffalo  which  he  had 
wounded  too  severely  to  fly,  and  which  he  was  keeping  employed 
until  we  should  come  up.  There  was  a  mixture  of  the  grand 
and  the  comic,  in  beholding  this  tremendous  animal  and  his  fan 
tastic  assailant.  The  buffalo  stood  with  his  shagged  front  always 
presented  to  his  foe  ;  his  mouth  open,  his  tongue  parched,  his 
eyes  like  coals  of  fire,  and  his  tail  erect  with  rage ;  every  now 
and  then  he  would  make  a  faint  rush  upon  his  foe,  who  easily 
evaded  his  attack,  capering  and  cutting  all  kinds  of  antics  before 
him. 

We  now  made  repeated  shots  at  the  buffalo,  but  they  glanced 
into  his  mountain  of  flesh  without  proving  mortal.  He  made  a 
slow  and  grand  retreat  into  the  shallow  river,  turning  upon  his 
assailants  whenever  they  pressed  upon  him  -r  and  when  in  the 
water,  took  his  stand  there  as  if  prepared  to  sustain  a  siege.  A 
rifle  ball,  however,  more  fatally  lodged,  sent  a  tremor  through  his 
frame.  He  turned  and  attempted  to  wade  across  the  stream,  but 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  135 


after  tottering  a  few  paces,  slowly  fell  upon  his  side  and  expired. 
It  was  the  fall  of  a  hero,  and  we  felt  somewhat  ashamed  of  the 
butchery  that  had  effected  it ;  but,  after  the  first  shot  or  two,  we 
had  reconciled  it  to  our  feelings,  by  the  old  plea  of  putting  the 
poor  animal  out  of  his  misery. 

Two  other  buffaloes  were  killed  this  evening,  but  they  were 
all  bulls,  the  flesh  of  which  is  meagre  and  hard,  at  this  season  of 
the  year.  A  fat  buck  yielded  us  more  savory  meat  for  our  even 
ing's  repast. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

RINGING   THE    WILD    HORSE. 

WE  left  the  buffalo  camp  about  eight  o'clock,  and  had  a  toilsome 
and  harassing  march  of  two  hours,  over  ridges  of  hills,  covered 
with  a  ragged  meagre  forest  of  scrub-oaks,  and  broken  by  deep 
gullies.  Among  the  oaks  I  observed  many  of  the  most  diminu 
tive  size  ;  some  not  above  a  foot  high,  yet  bearing  abundance  of 
small  acorns.  The  whole  of  the  Cross  Timber,  in  fact,  abounds 
with  mast.  There  is  a  pine-oak  which  produces  an  acorn  pleas 
ant  to  the  taste,  and  ripening  early  in  the  season. 

About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  we  came  to  where  this  line 
of  rugged  hills  swept  down  into  a  valley,  through  which  flowed 
the  north  fork  of  the  Red  River.  A  beautiful  meadow  about 
half  a  mile  wide,  enamelled  with  yellow  autumnal  flowers, 
stretched  for  two  or  three  miles  along  the  foot  of  the  hills,  bor 
dered  on  the  opposite  side  by  the  river,  whose  banks  were  fringed 


136  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


with  cotton-wood  trees,  the  bright  foliage  of  which  refreshed  and 
delighted  the  eye,  after  being  wearied  by  the  contemplation  of 
monotonous  wastes  of  brown  forest. 

The  meadow  was  finely  diversified  by  groves  and  clumps  of 
trees,  so  happily  dispersed,  that  they  seemed  as  if  set  out  by  the 
hand  of  art.  As  we  cast  our  eyes  over  this  fresh  and  delightful 
valley,  we  beheld  a  troop  of  wild  horses,  quietly  grazing  on  a 
green  lawn,  about  a  mile  distant  to  our  right,  while  to  our  left, 
at  nearly  the  same  distance,  were  several  buffaloes  ;  some  feeding, 
others  reposing  and  ruminating  among  the  high  rich  herbage, 
under  the  shade  of  a  clump  of  cotton-wood  trees.  The  whole  had 
the  appearance  of  a  broad  beautiful  tract  of  pasture  land,  on  the 
highly  ornamented  estate  of  some  gentleman  farmer,  with  his 
cattle  grazing  about  the  lawns  and  meadows. 

A  council  of  war  was  now  held,  and  it  was  determined  to 
profit  by  the  present  favorable  opportunity,  and  try  our  hand  at 
the  grand  hunting  manoeuvre,  which  is  called  ringing  the  wild 
horse.  This  requires  a  large  party  of  horsemen,  well  mounted. 
They  extend  themselves  in  each  direction,  singly,  at  certain  dis 
tances  apart,  and  gradually  form  a  ring  of  two  or  three  miles  in 
circumference,  so  as  to  surround  the  game.  This  has  to  be  done 
with  extreme  care,  for  the  wild  horse  is  the  most  readily  alarmed 
inhabitant  of  the  prairie,  and  can  scent  a  hunter  at  a  great  dis 
tance,  if  to  windward. 

The  ring  being  formed,  two  or  three  ride  towards  the  horses, 
who  start  oif  in  an  opposite  direction.  Whenever  they  approach 
the  bounds  of  the  ring,  however,  a  huntsman  presents  himself 
and  turns  them  from  their  course.  In  this  way,  they  are  checked 
and  driven  back  at  every  point :  and  kept  galloping  round  and 
round  this  magic  circle,  until,  being  completely  tired  down,  it  is 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  137 


easy  for  the  hunters  to  ride  up  beside  them,  and  throw  the  lariat 
over  their  heads.  The  prime  horses  of  most  speed,  courage,  and 
bottom,  however,  are  apt  to  break  through  and  escape,  so  that,  in 
general,  it  is  the  second-rate  horses  that  are  taken. 

Preparations  were  now  made  for  a  hunt  of  the  kind.  The 
pack-horses  were  taken  into  the  woods  and  firmly  tied  to  trees, 
lest,  in  a  rush  of  the  wild  horses,  they  should  break  away  with 
them.  Twenty-five  men  were  then  sent  under  the  command  of 
a  lieutenant,  to  steal  along  the  edge  of  the  valley  within  the  strip 
of  wood  that  skirted  the  hills.  They  were  to  station  them 
selves  about  fifty  yards  apart,  within  the  edge  of  the  woods,  and 
not  advance  or  show  themselves  until  the  horses  dashed  in  that 
direction.  Twenty-five  men  were  sent  across  the  valley,  to  steal 
in  like  manner  along  the  river  bank  that  bordered  the  opposite 
side,  and  to  station  themselves  among  the  trees.  A  third  party, 
of  about  the  same  number,  was  to  form  a  line,  stretching  across 
the  lower  part  of  the  valley,  so  as  to  connect  the  two  wings. 
Beatte  and  our  other  half-breed  Antoine,  together  with  the  ever- 
officious  Tonish,  were  to  make  a  circuit  through  the  woods,  so  as 
to  get  to  the  upper  part  of  the  valley,  in  the  rear  of  the  horses, 
and  to  drive  them  forward  into  the  kind  of  sack  that  we  had 
formed,  while  the  two  wings  should  join  behind  them  and  make 
a  complete  circle. 

The  flanking  parties  were  quietly  extending  themselves,  out 
of  sight,  on  each  side  of  the  valley,  and  the  residue  were  stretch 
ing  themselves,  like  the  links  of  a  chain,  across  it,  when  the  wild 
horses  gave  signs  that  they  scented  an  enemy ;  snuffing  the  air, 
snorting,  and  looking  about  At  length  they  pranced  off  slowly 
toward  the  river,  and  disappeared  behind  a  green  bank.  Here, 
had  the  regulations  of  the  chase  been  observed,  they  would  have  ' 


138  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


been  quietly  checked  and  turned  back  by  the  advance  of  a  hunter 
from  among  the  trees ;  unluckily,  however,  we  had  our  wildfire 
Jack-o'-lantern  little  Frenchman  to  deal  with.  Instead  of  keeping 
quietly  up  the  right  side  of  the  valley,  to  get  above  the  horses,  the 
moment  he  saw  them  move  toward  the  river,  he  broke  out  of  the 
covert  of  woods,  and  dashed  furiously  across  the  plain  in  pursuit 
of  them,  being  mounted  on  one  of  the  led  horses  belonging  to  the 
Count.  This  put  an  end  to  all  system.  The  half-breeds  and  half  a 
score  of  rangers  joined  in  the  chase.  Away  they  all  went  over  the 
green  bank ;  in  a  moment  or  two  the  wild  horses  reappeared,  and 
came  thundering  down  the  valley,  with  Frenchman,  half-breeds, 
and  rangers  galloping  and  yelling  like  devils  behind  them.  It 
was  in  vain  that  the  line  drawn  across  the  valley  attempted  to 
check  and  turn  back  the  fugitives.  They  were  too  hotly  pressed 
by  their  pursuers :  in  their  panic  they  dashed  through  the  line, 
and  clattered  down  the  plain.  The  whole  troop  joined  in  the 
headlong  chase,  some  of  the  rangers  without  hats  or  caps,  their 
hair  flying  about  their  ears,  others  with  handkerchiefs  tied  round 
their  heads.  The  buffaloes,  who  had  been  calmly  ruminating 
among  the  herbage,  heaved  up  their  huge  forms,  gazed  for  a 
moment  with  astonishment  at  the  tempest  that  came  scouring 
down  the  meadow,  then  turned  and  took  to  heavy-rolling  flight. 
They  were  soon  overtaken  :  the  promiscuous  throng  were  pressed 
together  by  the  contracting  sides  of  the  valley,  and  away  they 
went,  pell-mell,  hurry-scurry,  wild  buffalo,  wild  horse,  wild  hunts 
man,  with  clang  and  clatter,  and  whoop  and  halloo,  that  made 
the  forests  ring. 

At  length  the  buffaloes  turned  into  a  green  brake  on  the 
river  bank,  while  the  horses  dashed  up  a  narrow  defile  of  the 
hills,  with  their  pursuers  close  at  their  heels.  Beatte  passed 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  139 


several  of  them,  having  fixed  his  eye  upon  a  fine  Pawnee  horse, 
that  had  his  ears  slit,  and  saddle  marks  upon  his  back.  He 
pressed  him  gallantly,  but  lost  him  in  the  woods.  Among  the 
wild  horses  was  a  fine  black  mare,  far  gone  with  foal.  In  scram 
bling  up  the  defile,  she  tripped  and  fell.  A  young  ranger  sprang 
from  his  horse,  and  seized  her  by  the  mane  and  muzzle.  Another 
ranger  dismounted,  and  came  to  his  assistance.  The  mare  strug 
gled  fiercely,  kicking  and  biting,  and  striking  with  her  fore  feet, 
but  a  noose  was  slipped  over  her  head,  and  her  struggles  were  in 
vain.  It  was  some  time,  however,  before  she  gave  over  rearing 
and  plunging,  and  lashing  out  with  her  feet  on  every  side.  The 
two  rangers  then  led  her  along  the  valley  by  two  long  lariats, 
which  enabled  them  to  keep  at  a  sufficient  distance  on  each  side 
to  be  out  of  the  reach  of  her  hoofs,  and  whenever  she  struck  out 
in  one  direction,  she  was  jerked  in  the  other.  In  this  way  her 
spirit  was  gradually  subdued. 

As  to  little  Scaramouch  Tonish,  who  had  marred  the  whole 
scene  by  his  precipitancy,  he  had  been  more  successful  than  he 
deserved,  having  managed  to  catch  a  beautiful  cream-colored  colt, 
about  seven  months  old,  which  had  not  strength  to  keep  up  with 
its  companions.  The  mercurial  little  Frenchman  was  beside  him 
self  with  exultation.  It  was  amusing  to  see  him  with  his  prize. 
The  colt  would  rear  and  kick,  and  struggle  to  get  free,  when 
Tonish  would  take  him  about  the  neck,  wrestle  with  him,  jump 
on  his  back,  and  cut  as  many  antics  as  a  monkey  with  a  kitten. 
Nothing  surprised  me  more,  however,  than  to  witness  how  soon 
these  poor  animals,  thus  taken  from  the  unbounded  freedom  of 
the  prairie,  yielded  to  the  dominion  of  man.  In  the  course  of 
two  or  three  days  the  mare  and  colt  went  with  the  led  horses, 
and  became  quite  docile. 


140  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

FORDING    OF    THE    NORTH    FORK. DREARY    SCENERY    OF    THE    CROSS 

TIMBER. SCAMPER     OF     HORSES     IN     THE     NIGHT. OSAGE    WAR 

PARTY. EFFECTS     OF     A     PEACE     HARANGUE. BUFFALO. WILD 

HORSE. 

RESUMING  our  march,  we  forded  the  North  Fork,  a  rapid  stream, 
and  of  a  purity  seldom  to  be  found  in  the  rivers  of  the  prairies. 
It  evidently  had  its  sources  in  high  land,  well  supplied  with 
springs.  After  crossing  the  river,  we  again  ascended  among 
hills,  from  one  of  which  we  had  an  extensive  view  over  this  belt 
of  cross  timber,  and  a  cheerless  prospect  it  was  ;  hill  beyond  hill, 
forest  beyond  forest,  all  of  one  sad  russet  hue — excepting  that 
here  and  there  a  line  of  green  cotton-wood  trees,  sycamores,  and 
willows,  marked  the  course  of  some  streamlet  through  a  valley. 
A  procession  of  buffaloes,  moving  slowly  up  tho  profile  of  one  of 
•those  distant  hills,  formed  a  characteristic  object  in  the  savage 
scene.  To  the  left,  the  eye  stretched  beyond  this  rugged  wilder 
ness  of  hills,  and  ravines,  and  ragged  forests,  to  a  prairie  about 
ton  miles  off,  extending  in  a  clear  blue  line  along  the  horizon.  It 
was  like  looking  from  among  rocks  and  breakers  upon  a  distant 
tract  of  tranquil  ocean.  Unluckily,  our  route  did  not  lie  in  that 
direction  ;  we  still  had  to  traverse  many  a  weary  mile  of  the 
"cross  timber." 

We  encamped  towards  evening  in  a  valley,  beside  a  scanty 
pool,  under  a  scattered  grove  of  elms,  the  upper  branches  of 
which  were  fringed  with  tufts  of  the  mystic  mistletoe.  In  the 
course  of  the  night,  the  wild  colt  whinnied  repeatedly ;  and  about 


A  TOUR  ON   THE  PRAIRIES.  141 


two  hours  before  day,  there  was  a  sudden  stampedo,  or  rush  of 
horses,  along  the  purlieus  of  the  camp,  with  a  snorting  and  neigh 
ing,  and  clattering  of  hoofs,  that  startled  most  of  the  rangers  from 
their  sleep,  who  listened  in  silence,  until  the  sound  died  away  like 
the  rushing  of  a  blast.  As  usual,  the  noise  was  at  first  attributed 
to  some  party  of  marauding  Indians  :  but  as  the  day  dawned,  a 
couple  of  wild  horses  were  seen  in  a  neighboring  meadow,  which 
scoured  off  on  being  approached.  It  was  now  supposed  that  a 
gang  of  them  had  dashed  through  our  camp  in  the  night.  A 
general  mustering  of  our  horses  took  place,  many  were  found 
scattered  to  a  considerable  distance,  and  several  were  not  to  be 
found.  The  prints  of  their  hoofs,  however,  appeared  deeply 
dinted  in  the  soil,  leading  off  at  full  speed  into  the  waste,  and 
their  owners,  putting  themselves  on  the  trail,  set  off  in  weary 
search  of  them. 

We  had  a  ruddy  daybreak,  but  the  morning  gathered  up  gray 
and  lowering,  with  indications  of  an  autumnal  storm.  We  re 
sumed  our  march  silently  and  seriously,  through  a  rough  and 
cheerless  country,  from  the  highest  points  of  which  we  could 
descry  large  prairies,  stretching  indefinitely  westward.  After 
travelling  for  two  or  three  hours,  as  we  were  traversing  a  withered 
prairie,  resembling  a  great  brown  heath,  we  beheld  seven  Osage 
warriors  approaching  at  a  distance.  The  sight  of  any  human 
being  in  this  lonely  wilderness  was  interesting  ;  it  was  like  speak 
ing  a  ship  at  sea.  One  of  the  Indians  took  the  lead  of  his  com 
panions,  and  advanced  towards  us  with  head  erect,  chest  thrown 
forward,  and  a  free  and  noble  mienu  He  was  a  fine-looking  fellow,  *i 
dressed  in  scarlet  frock  *and  fringed  leggins  of  deer  skin.  His 
head  was  decorated  with  a  white  tuft,  and  he  stepped  forward  with 
something  of  a  martial  air,  swaying  his  bow  and  arrows  in  one  hand. 


142  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


We  held  some  conversation  with  him  through  our  interpreter, 
Beatte,  and  found  that  he  and  his  companions  had  been  with  the 
main  part  of  their  tribe  hunting  the  buffalo,  and  had  met  with 
great  success  ;  and  he  informed  us,  that  in  the  course  of  another 
day's  march,  we  would  reach  the  prairies  on  the  banks  of  the 
Grand  Canadian,  and  find  plenty  of  game.  He  added,  that  as 
their  hunt  was  over,  and  the  hunters  on  their  return  homeward, 
he  and  his  comrades  had  set  out  on  a  war  party,  to  waylay  and 
hover  about  some  Pawnee  camp,  in  hopes  of  carrying  off  scalps 
or  horses. 

By  this  time  his  companions,  who  at  first  stood  aloof,  joined 
him.  Three  of  them  had  indifferent  fowling-pieces  ;  the  rest 
were  armed  with  bows  and  arrows.  I  could  not  but  admire  the 
finely  shaped  heads  and  busts  of  these  savages,  and  their  graceful 
attitudes  and  expressive  gestures,  as  they  stood  conversing  with 
our  interpreter,  and  surrounded  by  a  cavalcade  of  rangers.  We 
endeavored  to  get  one  of  them  to  join  us,  as  we  were  desirous 
of  seeing  him  hunt  the  buffalo  with  his  bow  and  arrow.  He 
seemed  at  first  inclined  to  do  so,  but  was  dissuaded  by  his  com 
panions. 

The  worthy  Commissioner  now  remembered  his  mission  as 
pacificator,  and  made  a  speech,  exhorting  them  to  abstain  from 
all  offensive  acts  against  the  Pawnees ;  informing  them  of  the 
plan  of  their  father  at  Washington,  to  put  an  end  to  all  war 
among  his  red  children ;  and  assuring  them  that  he  was  sent  to 
the  frontier  to  establish  a  universal  peace.  He  told  them,  there 
fore,  to  return  quietly  to  their  homes,  with  the  certainty  that  the 
Pawnees  would  no  longer  molest  thenf,  but  would  soon  regard 
them  as  brothers. 

The    Indians  listened  to  the  speech  with  their  customary 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  143 


silence  and  decorum  ;  after  which,  exchanging  a  few  words  among 
themselves,  they  bade  us  farewell,  and  pursued  their  way  across 
the  prairie. 

Fancying  that  I  saw  a  lurking  smile  in  the  countenance  of 
our  interpreter,  Beatte,  I  privately  inquired  what  the  Indians 
had  said  to  each  other  after  hearing  the  speech.  The  leader,  he 
said,  had  observed  to  his  companions,  that,  as  their  great  father 
intended  so  soon  to  put  an  end  to  all  warfare,  it  behooved  them 
to  make  the  most  of  the  little  time  that  was  left  them.  So 
they  had  departed,  with  redoubled  zeal,  to  pursue  their  project  of 
horse  stealing  ! 

We  had  not  long  parted  from  the  Indians  before  we  discov 
ered  three  buffaloes  among  the  thickets  of  a  marshy  valley  to  our 
left.  I  set  off  with  the  Captain  and  several  rangers,  in  pursuit 
of  them.  Stealing  through  a  straggling  grove,  the  Captain,  who 
took  the  lead,  got  within  rifle  shot,  and  wounded  one  of  them  in 
the  flank.  They  all  three  made  off  in  headlong  panic,  through 
thickets  and  brushwood,  and  swamp  and  mire,  bearing  down 
every  obstacle  by  their  immense  weight.  The  Captain  and 
rangers  soon  gave  up  a  chase  which  threatened  to  knock  up  their 
horses  ;  I  had  got  upon  the  traces  of  the  wounded  bull,  however, 
and  was  in  hopes  of  getting  near  enough  to  use  my  pistols,  the 
only  weapons  with  which  I  was  provided  ;  but  before  I  could 
effect  it.  he  reached  the  foot  of  a  rocky  hill,  covered  with  post- 
oak  and  brambles,  and  plunged  forward,  dashing  and  crashing 
along,  with  neck  or  nothing  fury,  where  it  would  have  been  mad 
ness  to  have  followed  him. 

The  chase  had  led  me  so  far  on  one  side,  that  it  was  some 
time  before  I  regained  the  trail  of  our  troop.  As  I  was  slowly 
ascending  a  hill,  a  fine  black  mare  came  prancing  round  the  sum- 


144  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


mit,  and  was  close  to  me  before  she  was  aware.  At  sight  of  me 
she  started  back,  then  turning,  swept  at  full  speed  down  into  the 
valley,  and  up  the  opposite  hill,  with  flowing  mane  and  tail,  and 
action  free  as  air.  I  gazed  after  her  as  long  as  she  was  in  sight, 
and  breathed  a  wish  that  so  glorious  an  animal  might  never  come 
under  the  degrading  thraldom  of  whip  and  curb,  but  remain  a 
free  rover  of  the  prairies. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

FOUL     WEATHER       ENCAMPMENT. ANECDOTES     OF      BEAR     HUNTING. 

INDIAN    NOTIONS     ABOUT    OMENS. SCRUPLES     RESPECTING    THE 

DEAD. 

ON  overtaking  the  troop,  I  found  it  encamping  in  a  rich  bottom 
of  woodland,  traversed  by  a  small  stream,  running  between  deep 
crumbling  banks.  A  sharp  cracking  off  of  rifles  was  kept  up  for 
some  time  in  various  directions,  upon  a  numerous  flock  of  turkeys, 
scampering  among  the  thickets,  or  perched  upon  the  trees.  We 
had  not  been  long  at  a  halt,  when  a  drizzling  rain  ushered  in  the 
autumnal  storm  that  had  been  brewing.  Preparations  were  im 
mediately  made  to  weather  it ;  our  tent  was  pitched,  and  our 
saddles,  saddlebags,  packages  of  coffee,  sugar,  salt,  and  every 
thing  else  that  could  be  damaged  by  the  rain,  were  gathered 
under  its  shelter.  Our  men,  Beatte,  Tonish,  and  Antoine,  drove 
stakes  with  forked  ends  into  the  ground,  laid  poles  across  them 
for  rafters,  and  thus  made  a  shed  or  pent-house,  covered  with 
bark  and  skins,  sloping  towards  the  wind,  and  open  towards  the 


A  TOUR  ON   THE  PRAIRIES.  145 


fire.  The  rangers  formed  similar  shelters  of  bark  and  skins,  or 
of  blankets  stretched  on  poles,  supported  by  forked  stakes,  with 
great  fires  in  front. 

These  precautions  were  well  timed.  The  rain  set  in  sullenly 
and  steadily,  and  kept  on,  with  slight  intermissions,  for  two  days. 
The  brook  which  flowed  peaceably  on  our  arrival,  swelled  into  a 
turbid  and  boiling  torrent,  and  the  forest  became  little  better 
than  a  mere  swamp.  The  men  gathered  under  their  shelters  of 
skins  and  blankets,  or  sat  cowering  round  their  fires  ;  while 
columns  of  smoke  curling  up  among  the  trees,  and  diffusing 
themselves  in  the  air,  spread  a  blue  haze  through  the  woodland. 
Our  poor,  way-worn  horses,  reduced  by  weary  travel  and  scanty 
pasturage,  lost  all  remaining  spirit,  and  stood,  with  drooping 
heads,  flagging  ears,  and  half  closed  eyes,  dozing  and  steaming  in 
the  rain  :  while  the  yellow  autumnal  leaves,  at  every  shaking  of 
the  breeze,  came  wavering  down  around  them. 

Notwithstanding  the  bad  weather,  however,  our  hunters  were 
not  idle,  but  during  the  intervals  of  the  rain,  sallied  forth  on 
horseback  to  prowl  through  the  woodland.  Every  now  and  then 
the  sharp  report  of  a  distant  rifle  boded  the  death  of  a  deer. 
Yenison  in  abundance  was  brought  in.  Some  busied  themselves 
under  the  sheds,  flaying  and  cutting  up  the  carcasses,  or  round 
the  fires  with  spits  and  camp  kettles,  and  a  rude  kind  of  feasting, 
or  rather  gormandizing,  prevailed  throughout  the  camp.  The 
axe  was  continually  at  work,  and  wearied  the  forest  with  its  echoes. 
Crash  !  some  mighty  tree  would  come  down  ;  in  a  few  minutes 
its  limbs  would  be  blazing  and  crackling  on  the  huge  camp  fires, 
with  some  luckless  deer  roasting  before  it,  that  had  once  sported 
beneath  its  shade. 

The  change  of  weather   had  taken   sharp  hold  of  our  little 


146  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


Frenchman.  His  meagre  frame,  composed  of  bones  and  whip 
cord,  was  racked  with  rheumatic  pains  and  twinges.  He  had  the 
toothache — the  earache — his  face  was  tied  up — he  had  shooting 
pains  in  every  limb  :  yet  all  seemed  but  to  increase  his  restless 
activity,  and  he  was  in  an  incessant  fidget  about  the  fire,  roasting, 
and  stewing,  and  groaning,  and  scolding,  and  swearing. 

Our  man  Beatte  returned  grim  and  mortified,  from  hunting. 
He  had  come  upon  a  bear  of  formidable  dimensions,  and  wounded 
him  with  a  rifle  shot.  The  bear  took  to  the  brook,  which  was 
swollen  and  rapid.  Beatte  dashed  in  after  him  and  assailed  him 
in  the  rear  with  his  hunting  knife.  At  every  blow  the  bear 
turned  furiously  upon  him,  with  a  terrific  display  of  white  teeth. 
Beatte,  having  a  foothold  in  the  brook,  was  enabled  to  push  him 
off  with  his  rifle,  and,  when  he  turned  to  swim,  would  flounder 
after,  and  attempt  to  hamstring  him.  The  bear,  however,  suc 
ceeded  in  scrambling  off  among  the  thickets,  and  Beatte  had  to 
give  up  the  chase. 

This  adventure,  if  it  produced  no  game,  brought  up  at  least 
several  anecdotes,  round  the  evening  fire,  relative  to  bear  hunt 
ing,  in  which  the  grizzly  bear  figured  conspicuously.  This  power 
ful  and  ferocious  animal,  is  a  favorite  theme  of  hunter's  story, 
both  among  red  and  white  men  ;  and  his  enormous  claws  are  worn 
round  the  neck  of  an  Indian  brave,  as  a  trophy  more  honorable 
than  a  human  scalp.  He  is  now  scarcely  seen  below  the  upper 
prairies,  and  the  skirts  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Other  bears  are 
formidable  when  wounded  and  provoked,  but  seldom  make  battle 
when  allowed  to  escape.  The  grizzly  bear,  alone,  of  all  the  ani 
mals  of  our  western  wilds,  is  prone  to  unprovoked  hostility. 
His  prodigious  size  and  strength,  make  him  a  formidable  oppo 
nent  ;  and  his  great  tenacity  of  life  often  baffles  the  skill  of  the 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  147 


hunter,  notwithstanding  repeated  shots  of  the  rifle,  and  wounds 
of  the  hunting  knife. 

One  of  the  anecdotes  related  on  this  occasion,  gave  a  picture 
of  the  accidents  and  hard  shifts,  to  which  our  frontier  rovers  are 
inured.  A  hunter,  while  in  pursuit  of  a  deer,  fell  into  one  of 
those  deep  funnel-shaped  pits,  formed  on  the  prairies  by  the  set 
tling  of  the  waters  after  heavy  rains,  and  known  by  the  name  of 
sink-holes.  To  his  great  horror,  he  came  in  contact,  at  the  bot 
tom,  with  a  huge  grizzly  bear.  The  monster  grappled  him ;  a 
deadly  contest  ensued,  in  which  the  poor  hunter  was  severely  torn 
and  bitten,  and  had  a*  leg  and  an  arm  broken,  but  succeeded  in 
killing  his  rugged  foe.  For  several  days  he  remained  at  the  bot 
tom  of  the  pit,  too  much  crippled  to  move,  and  subsisting  on  the 
raw  flesh  of  the  bear,  during  which  time  he  kept  his  wounds  open, 
that  they  might  heal  gradually  and  effectually.  He  was  at  length 
enabled  to  scramble  to  the  top  of  the  pit,  and  so  out  upon  the 
open  prairie.  With  great  difficulty  he  crawled  to  a  ravine, 
formed  by  a  stream,  then  nearly  dry.  Here  he  took  a  delicious 
draught  of  water,  which  infused  new  life  into  him  5  then  drag 
ging  himself  along  from  pool  to  pool,  he  supported  himself  by 
small  fish  and  frogs. 

One  day  he  saw  a  wolf  hunt  down  and  kill  a  deer  in  the 
neighboring  prairie.  He  immediately  crawled  forth  from  the 
ravine,  drove  off  the  wolf,  and,  lying  down  beside  the  carcass  of 
the  deer,  remained  there  until  he  made  several  hearty  meals,  by 
which  his  strength  was  much  recruited. 

Returning  to  the  ravine,  he  pursued  the  course  of  the  brook, 
until  it  grew  to  be  a  considerable  stream.  Down  this  he  floated, 
until  he  came  to  where  it  emptied  into  the  Mississippi.  Just  at 
the  mouth  of  the  stream,  he  found  a  forked  tree,  which  he 


148  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


launched  with  some  difficulty,  and,  getting  astride  of  it,  commit 
ted  himself  to  the  current  of  the  mighty  river.  In  this  way  he 
floated  along,  until  he  arrived  opposite  the  fort  at  Council  Bluffs. 
Fortunately  he  arrived  there  in  the  daytime,  otherwise  he  might 
have  floated  unnoticed,  past  this  solitary  post,  and  perished  in 
the  idle  waste  of  waters.  Being  descried  from  the  fort,  a  canoe 
was  sent  to  his  relief,  and  he  was  brought  to  shore  more  dead 
than  alive,  where  he  soon  recovered  from  his  wounds,  but  re 
mained  maimed  for  life. 

Our  man  Beatte  had  come  out  of  his  contest  with  the  bear, 
very  much  worsted  and  discomfited.  His  drenching  in  the 
brook,  together  with  the  recent  change  of  weather,  had  brought 
on  rheumatic  pains  in  his  limbs,  to  which  he  is  subject.  Though 
ordinarily  a  fellow  of  undaunted  spirit,  and  above  all  hardship, 
yet  he  now  sat  down  by  the  fire,  gloomy  and  dejected,  and  for 
once  gave  way  to  repining.  Though  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  of 
a  robust  frame,  and  apparently  iron  constitution,  yet,  by  his  own 
account  he  was  little  better  than  a  mere  wreck.  He  was,  in  fact, 
a  living  monument  of  the  hardships  of  wild  frontier  life.  Baring 
his  left  arm,  he  showed  it  warped  and  contracted  by  a  former  at 
tack  of  rheumatism ;  a  malady  with  which  the  Indians  are  often 
afflicted  ;  for  their  exposure  to  the  vicissitudes  of  the  elements, 
does  not  produce  that  perfect  hardihood  and  insensibility  to  the 
changes  of  the  seasons  that  many  are  apt  to  imagine.  He  bore 
the  scars  of  various  maims  and  bruises ;  some  received  in  hunt 
ing,  some  in  Indian  warfare.  His  right  arm  had  been  broken  by 
a  fall  from  his  horse ;  at  another  time  his  steed  had  fallen  with 
him,  and  crushed  his  left  leg. 

"  I  am  all  broke  to  pieces  and  good  for  nothing  ;"  said  he,  "  I 
no  care  now  what  happen  to  me  any  more."  "  However,"  added 


A  TOUR  ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  149 


he,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  for  all  that,  it  would  take  a  pretty 
strong  man  to  put  me  down,  anyhow." 

I  drew  from  him  various  particulars  concerning  himself,  which 
served  to  raise  him  in  my  estimation.  His  residence  was  on  the 
Neosho,  in  an  Osage  hamlet  or  neighborhood,  under  the  super 
intendence  of  a  worthy  missionary  from  the  banks  of  the  Hud 
son,  by  the  name  of  Requa,  who  was  endeavoring  to  instruct  the 
savages  in  the  art  of  agriculture,  and  to  make  husbandmen  and 
herdsmen  of  them.  I  had  visited  this  agricultural  mission  of 
Requa  in  the  course  of  my  recent  tour  along  the  frontier,  and 
had  considered  it  more  likely  to  produce  solid  advantages  to  the 
poor  Indians,  than  any  of  the  mere  praying  and  preaching  mis 
sions  along  the  border. 

In  this  neighborhood,  Pierre  Beatte  had  his  little  farm,  his 
Indian  wife,  and  his  half-breed  children  ;  and  aided  Mr.  Requa 
in  his  endeavors  to  civilize  the  habits,  and  meliorate  the  condition 
of  the  Osage  tribe.  Beatte  had  been  brought  up  a  Catholic, 
and  was  inflexible  in  his  religious  faith  ;  he  could  not  pray  with 
Mr.  Requa,  he  said,  but  he  could  work  with  him,  and  he  evinced 
a  zeal  for  the  good  of  his  savage  relations  and  neighbors.  In 
deed,  though  his  father  had  been  French,  and  he  himself  had 
been  brought  up  in  communion  with  the  whites,  he  evidently  was 
more  of  an  Indian  in  his  tastes,  and  his  heart  yearned  towards 
his  mother's  nation.  When  he  talked  to  me  of  the  wrongs  and 
insults  that  the  poor  Indians  suffered  in  their  intercourse  with 
the  rough  settlers  on  the  frontiers  ;  when  he  described  the  pre 
carious  and  degraded  state  of  the  Osage  tribe,  diminished  in 
numbers,  broken  in  spirit,  and  almost  living  on  sufferance  in  the 
land  where  they  once  figured  so  heroically,  I  could  see  his  veins 
swell,  and  his  nostrils  distend  with  indignation  ;  but  he  would 


150  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


check  the  feeling  with  a  strong  exertion  of  Indian  self-command, 
and,  in  a  manner,  drive  it  back  into  his  bosom. 

He  did  not  hesitate  to  relate  an  instance  wherein  he  had  joined 
his  kindred  Osages,  in  pursuing  and  avenging  themselves  on  a 
party  of  white  men  who  had  committed  a  flagrant  outrage  upon 
them  ;  and  I  found,  in  the  encounter  that  took  place,  Beatte  had 
shown  himself  the  complete  Indian. 

He  had  more  than  once  accompanied  his  Osage  relations  in 
their  wars  with  the  Pawnees,  and  related  a  skirmish  which  took 
place  on  the  borders  of  these  very  hunting  grounds,  in  which 
several  Pawnees  were  killed.  We  should  pass  near  the  place,  he 
said,  in  the  course  of  our  tour,  and  the  unburied  bones  and  skulls 
of  the  slain  were  still  to  be  seen  there.  The  surgeon  of  the  troop, 
who  was  present  at  our  conversation,  pricked  up  his  ears  at  this 
intelligence.  He  was  something  of  a  phrenologist,  and  offered 
Beatte  a  handsome  reward  if  he  would  procure  him  one  of  the 
skulls. 

Beatte  regarded  him  for  a  moment  with  a  look  of  stern  sur 
prise. 

"  No  !"  said  he  at  length,  "  dat  too  bad  !  I  have  heart  strong 
enough — I  no  care  kill,  but  let  the  dead  alone  /" 

He  added,  that  once  in  travelling  with  a  party  of  white  men, 
he  had  slept  in  the  same  tent  with  a  doctor,  and  found  that  he 
had  a  Pawnee  skull  among  his  baggage  :  he  at  once  renounced 
the  doctor's  tent,  and  his  fellowship.  "  He  try  to  coax  me,"  said 
Beatte,  "  but  I  say  no,  we  must  part — I  no  keep  such  com 
pany." 

In  the  temporary  depression  of  his  sprits,  Beatte  gave  way 
to  those  superstitious  forebodings  to  which  Indians  are  prone. 
He  had  sat  for  some  time,  with  his  cheek  upon  his  hand,  gazing 


A  TOUR  ON   THE  PRAIRIES.  151 


into  the  fire.  I  found  his  thoughts  were  wandering  back  to  his 
humble  home,  on  the  banks  of  the  Neosho  ;  he  was  sure,  he  said, 
that  he  should  find  some  one  of  his  family  ill,  or  dead,  on  his 
return  :  his  left  eye  had  twitched  and  twinkled  for  two  days  past ; 
an  omen  which  always  boded  some  misfortune  of  the  kind. 

Such  are  the  trivial  circumstances  which,  when  magnified  into 
omens,  will  shake  the  souls  of  these  men  of  iron.  The  least  sign 
of  mystic  and  sinister  portent,  is  sufficient  to  turn  a  hunter  or  a 
warrior  from  his  course,  or  to  fill  his  mind  with  apprehensions  of 
impending  evil.  It  is  this  superstitious  propensity,  common  to 
the  solitary  and  savage  rovers  of  the  wilderness,  that  gives  such 
powerful  influence  to  the  prophet  and  the  dreamer. 

The  Osages,  with  whom  Beatte  had  passed  much  of  his  life, 
retain  these  superstitious  fancies  and  rites  in  much  of  their  ori 
ginal  force.  They  all  believe  in  the  existence  of  the  soul  after 
its  separation  from  the  body,  and  that  it  carries  with  it  all  its 
mortal  tastes  and  habitudes.  At  an  Osage  village  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  Beatte,  one  of  the  chief  warriors  lost  an  only  child, 
a  beautiful  girl,  of  a  very  tender  age.  All  her  playthings  were 
buried  with  her.  Her  favorite  little  horse,  also,  was  killed,  and 
laid  in  the  grave  beside  her,  that  she  might  have  it  to  ride  in  the 
land  of  spirits. 

I  will  here  add  a  little  story,  which  I  picked  up  in  the  course 
of  my  tour  through  Beatte's  country,  and  which  illustrates  the 
superstitions  of  his  Osage  kindred.  A  large  party  of  Osages 
had  been  encamped  for  some  time  on  the  borders  of  a  fine  stream, 
called  the  Nickanansa.  Among  them  was  a  young  hunter,  one 
of  the  bravest  and  most  graceful  of  the  tribe,  who  was  to  be 
married  to  an  Osage  girl,  who,  for  her  beauty,  was  called  the 
Flower  of  the  Prairies.  The  young  hunter  left  her  for  a  time 


152  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


among  her  relatives  in  the  encampment,  and  went  to  St.  Louis,  to 
dispose  of  the  products  of  his  hunting,  and  purchase  ornaments 
for  his  bride.  After  an  absence  of  some  weeks,  he  returned  to 
the  banks  of  the  Nickanansa,  but  the  camp  was  no  longer  there ; 
the  bare  frames  of  the  lodges  and  the  brands  of  extinguished  fires 
alone  marked  the  place.  At  a  distance  he  beheld  a  female  seated, 
as  if  weeping,  by  the  side  of  the  stream.  It  was  his  affianced 
bride.  He  ran  to  embrace  her,  but  she  turned  mournfully  away. 
He  dreaded  lest  some  evil  had  befallen  the  camp. 

"  Where  are  our  people  ?"  cried  he. 

"  They  are  gone  to  the  banks  of  the  Wagrushka." 

"  And  what  art  thou  doing  here  alone  ?" 

"  Waiting  for  thee." 

"  Then  let  us  hasten  to  join  our  people  on  the  banks  of  the 
Wagrushka." 

He  gave  her  his  pack  to  carry,  and  walked  ahead,  according 
to  the  Indian  custom. 

They  came  to  where  the  smoke  of  the  distant  camp  was  seen 
rising  from  the  woody  margin  of  the  stream.  The  girl  seated 
herself  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  "  It  is  not  proper  for  us  to  return 
together,"  said  she  ;  "  I  will  wait  here." 

The  young  hunter  proceeded  to  the  camp  alone,  and  was 
received  by  his  relations  with  gloomy  countenances. 

"  What  evil  has  happened,"  said  he,  "  that  ye  are  all  so 
sad?" 

No  one  replied. 

He  turned  to  his  favorite  sister,  and  bade  her  go  forth,  seek 
his  bride,  and  conduct  her  to  the  camp. 

"  Alas  !"  cried  she,  "  how  shall  I  seek  her  ?  She  died  a  few 
days  since." 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  153 


The  relations  of  the  young  girl  now  surrounded  him,  weeping 
and  wailing  ;  but  he  refused  to  believe  the  dismal  tidings.  "  But 
a  few  moments  since,"  cried  he,  "  I  left  her  alone  and  in  health : 
come  with  me,  and  I  will  conduct  you  to  her." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  tree  where  she  had  seated  herself,  but 
she  was  no  longer  there,  and  his  pack  lay  on  the  ground.  The 
fatal  truth  struck  him  to  the  heart ;  he  fell  to  the  ground 
dead. 

I  give  this  simple  little  story  almost  in  the  words  in  which  it 
was  related  to  me,  as  I  lay  by  the  fire  in  an  evening  encampment 
on  the  banks  of  the  haunted  stream  where  it  is  said  to  have 
happened. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A    SECRET    EXPEDITION. DEER    BLEATING. MAGIC    BALLS. 

ON  the  following  morning  we  were  rejoined  by  the  rangers  who 
had  remained  at  the  last  encampment,  to  seek  for  the  stray 
horses.  They  had  tracked  them  for  a  considerable  distance 
through  bush  and  brake,  and  across  streams,  until  they  found 
them  cropping  the  herbage  on  the  edge  of  a  prairie.  Their 
heads  were  in  the  direction  of  the  fort,  and  they  were  evidently 
grazing  their  way  homeward,  heedless  of  the  unbounded  freedom 
of  the  prairie  so  suddenly  laid  open  to  them. 

About  noon  the  weather  held  up,  and  I  observed  a  mysterious 
consultation  going  on  between  our  half-breeds  and  Tonish ;  it 
ended  in  a  request  that  we  would  dispense  with  the  services  of 
the  latter  for  a  few  hours,  and  permit  him  to  join  his  comrades 

7* 


154  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


in  a  grand  foray.  We  objected  that  Tonish  was  too  much  dis 
abled  by  aches  and  pains  for  such  an  undertaking ;  but  he  was 
wild  with  eagerness  for  the  mysterious  enterprise,  and,  when  per 
mission  was  given  him,  seemed  to  forget  all  his  ailments  in  an 
instant. 

In  a  short  time  the  trio  were  equipped  and  on  horseback ; 
with  rifles  on  their  shoulders  and  handkerchiefs  twisted  round 
their  heads,  evidently  bound  for  a  grand  scamper.  As  they 
passed  by  the  different  lodges  of  the  camp,  the  vainglorious  little 
Frenchman  could  not  help  boasting  to  the  right  and  left  of  the 
great  things  he  was  about  to  achieve  ;  though  the  taciturn  Beatte, 
who  rode  in  advance,  would  every  now  and  then  check  his  horse, 
and  look  back  at  him  with  an  air  of  stern  rebuke.  It  was  hard, 
however,  to  make  the  loquacious  Tonish  play  "  Indian." 

Several  of  the  hunters,  likewise,  sallied  forth,  and  the  prime 
old  woodman,  Ryan,  came  back  early  in  the  afternoon,  with  ample 
spoil,  having  killed  a  buck  and  two  fat  does.  I  drew  near  to  a 
group  of  rangers  that  had  gathered  round  him  as  he  stood  by  the 
spoil,  and  found  they  were  discussing  the  merits  of  a  stratagem 
sometimes  used  in  deer  hunting.  This  consists  in  imitating,  with 
a  small  instrument  called  a  bleat,  the  cry  of  the  fawn,  so  as  to 
lure  the  doe  within  reach  of  the  rifle.  There  are  bleats  of  various 
kinds,  suited  to  calm  or  windy  weather,  and  to  the  age  of  the 
fawn.  The  poor  animal,  deluded  by  them,  in  its  anxiety  about 
its  young,  will  sometimes  advance  close  up  to  the  hunter.  "  I 
once  bleated  a  doe,"  said  a  young  hunter,  "  until  it  came  within 
twenty  yards  of  me,  and  presented  a  sure  mark.  I  levelled  my 
rifle  three  times,  but  had  not  the  heart  to  shoot,  for  the  poor  doe 
looked  so  wistfully,  that  it  in  a  manner  made  my  heart  yearn.  I 
thought  of  my  own  mother,  and  how  anxious  she  used  to  be  about 


A  TOUR  ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  155 


me  when  I  was  a  child  ;  so  to  put  an  end  to  the  matter,  I  gave  a 
halloo,  and  started  the  doe  out  of  rifle  shot  in  a  moment." 

"  And  you  did  right,"  cried  honest  old  Ryan.  "  For  my  part, 
I  never  could  bring  myself  to  bleating  deer.  I've  been  with 
hunters  who  had  bleats,  and  have  made  them  throw  them  away. 
It  is  a  rascally  trick  to  take  advantage  of  a  mother's  love  for  her 
young." 

Towards  evening,  our  three  worthies  returned  from  their 
mysterious  foray.  The  tongue  of  Tonish  gave  notice  of  their 
approach,  long  before  they  came  in  sight ;  for  he  was  vociferating 
at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  and  rousing  the  attention  of  the  whole 
camp.  The  lagging  gait  and  reeking  flanks  of  their  horses,  gave 
evidence  of  hard  riding ;  and,  on  nearer  approach,  we  found  them 
hung  round  with  meat,  like  a  butcher's  shambles.  In  fact  they 
had  been  scouring  an  immense  prairie  that  extended  beyond  the 
forest,  and  which  was  covered  with  herds  of  buffalo.  Of  this 
prairie,  and  the  animals  upon  it,  Beatte  had  received  intelligence 
a  few  days  before,  in  his  conversation  with  the  Osages :  but  had 
kept  the  information  a  secret  from  the  rangers,  that  he  and  his 
comrades  might  have  the  first  dash  at  the  game.  They  had  con 
tented  themselves  with  killing  four ;  though,  if  Tonish  might  be 
believed,  they  might  have  slain  them  by  scores. 

These  tidings,  and  the  buffalo  meat  brought  home  in  evidence, 
spread  exultation  through  the  camp,  and  every  one  looked  for 
ward  with  joy  to  a  buffalo  hunt  on  the  prairies.  Tonish  was 
again  the  oracle  of  the  camp,  and  held  forth  by  the  hour  to  a 
knot  of  listeners,  crouched  round  the  fire,  with  their  shoulders  up 
to  their  ears.  He  was  now  more  boastful  than  ever  of  his  skill 
as  a  marksman.  All  his  want  of  success  in  the  early  part  of 
our  march,  he  attributed  to  being  "  out  of  luck,"  if  not  "  spell- 


156  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


bound ;"  and  finding  himself  listened  to  with  apparent  credulity, 
gave  an  instance  of  the  kind,  which  he  declared  had  happened  to 
himself,  but  which  was  evidently  a  tale  picked  up  among  his  rela 
tions,  the  Osages. 

According  to  this  account,  when  about  fourteen  years  of  age, 
as  he  was  one  day  hunting,  he  saw  a  white  deer  come  out  from  a 
ravine.  Crawling  near  to  get  a  shot,  he  beheld  another  and  ano 
ther  come  forth,  until  there  were  seven,  all  as  white  as  snow. 
Having  crept  sufficiently  near,  he  singled  one  out  and  fired,  but 
without  effect :  the  deer  remained  unfrightened.  He  loaded  and 
fired  again,  and  again  he  missed.  Thus  he  continued  firing  and 
missing  until  all  his  ammunition  was  expended,  and  the  deer  re 
mained  without  a  wound.  He  returned  home  despairing  of  his 
skill  as  a  marksman,  but  was  consoled  by  an  old  Osage  hunter. 
These  white  deer,  said  he,  have  a  charmed  life,  and  can  only  be 
killed  by  bullets  of  a  particular  kind. 

The  old  Indian  cast  several  balls  for  Tonish,  but  would  not 
suffer  him  to  be  present  on  the  occasion,  nor  inform  him  of  the 
ingredients  and  mystic  ceremonials. 

Provided  with  these  balls,  Tonish  again  set  out  in  quest  of 
the  white  deer,  and  succeeded  in  finding  them.  He  tried  at  first 
with  ordinary  balls,  but  missed  as  before.  A  magic  ball,  however, 
immediately  brought  a  fine  buck  to  the  ground.  Whereupon  the 
rest  of  the  herd  immediately  disappeared  and  were  never  seen 
again. 

Oct.  29.  The  morning  opened  gloomy  and  lowering  ;  but  to 
wards  eight  o'clock  the  sun  struggled  forth  and  lighted  up  the 
forest,  and  the  notes  of  the  bugle  gave  signal  to  prepare  for 
marching.  Now  began  a  scene  of  bustle,  and  clamor,  and  gayety. 
Some  were  scampering  and  brawling  after  their  horses,  some  were 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  157 


riding  in  bare-backed,  and  driving  in  the  horses  of  their  com 
rades.  Some  were  stripping  the  poles  of  the  wet  blankets  that 
had  served  for  shelters ;  others  packing  up  with  all  possible  dis 
patch,  and  loading  the  baggage  horses  as  they  arrived,  while 
others  were  cracking  off  their  damp  rifles  and  charging  them 
afresh,  to  be  ready  for  the  sport. 

About  ten  o'clock,  we  began  our  march.  I  loitered  in  the 
rear  of  the  troop  as  it  forded  the  turbid  brook,  and  denied  through 
the  labyrinths  of  the  forest.  I  always  felt  disposed  to  linger 
until  the  last  straggler  disappeared  among  the  trees  and  the  dis 
tant  note  of  the  bugle  died  upon  the  ear,  that  I  might  behold  the 
wilderness  relapsing  into  silence  and  solitude.  In  the  present 
instance,  the  deserted  scene  of  our  late  bustling  encampment  had 
a  forlorn  and  desolate  appearance.  The  surrounding  forest  had 
been  in  many  places  trampled  into  a  quagmire.  Trees  felled  and 
partly  hewn  in  pieces,  and  scattered  in  huge  fragments  ;  tent- 
poles  stripped  of  their  covering  ;  smouldering  fires,  with  great 
morsels  of  roasted  venison  and  buffalo  meat,  standing  in  wooden 
spits  before  them,  hacked  and  slashed  by  the  knives  of  hungry 
hunters  ;  while  around  were  strewed  the  hides,  the  horns,  the 
antlers  and  bones  of  buffaloes  and  deer,  with  uncooked  joints, 
and  unplucked  turkeys,  left  behind  with  that  reckless  improvi 
dence  and  wastefulness  which  young  hunters  are  apt  to  indulge 
when  in  a  neighborhood  where  game  abounds.  In  the  meantime 
a  score  or  two  of  turkey-buzzards,  or  vultures,  were  already  on 
the  wing,  wheeling  their  magnificent  flight  high  in  the  air,  and 
preparing  for  a  descent  upon  the  camp  as  soon  as  it  should  be 
abandoned. 


158  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  GRAND  PRAIRIE. A  BUFFALO    HUNT. 

AFTER  proceeding  about  two  hours  in  a  southerly  direction,  we 
emerged  towards  mid-day  from  the  dreary  belt  of  the  Cross  Tim 
ber,  and  to  our  infinite  delight  beheld  "  the  great  Prairie,"  stretch 
ing  to  the  right  and  left  before  us.  We  could  distinctly  trace 
the  meandering  course  of  the  Main  Canadian,  and  various  smaller 
streams,  by  the  strips  of  green  forest  that  bordered  them.  The 
landscape  was  vast  and  beautiful.  There  is  always  an  expansion 
of  feeling  in  looking  upon  these  boundless  and  fertile  wastes  ; 
but  I  was  doubly  conscious  of  it  after  emerging  from  our  "  close 
dungeon  of  innumerous  boughs." 

From  a  rising  ground  Beatte  pointed  out  the  place  where 
he  and  his  comrades  had  killed  the  buffaloes  ;  and  we  beheld 
several  black  objects  moving  in  the  distance,  which  he  said  were 
part  of  the  herd.  The  Captain  determined  to  shape  his  course 
to  a  woody  bottom  about  a  mile  distant,  and  to  encamp  there  for 
a  day  or  two,  by  way  of  having  a  regular  buffalo  hunt,  and  get 
ting  a  supply  of  provisions.  As  the  troop  defiled  along  the  slope 
of  the  hill  towards  the  camping  ground,  Beatte  proposed  to  my 
messmates  and  myself,  that  we  should  put  ourselves  under  his 
guidance,  promising  to  take  us  where  we  should  have  plenty  of 
sport.  Leaving  the  line  of  march,  therefore,  we  diverged  towards 
the  prairie  ;  traversing  a  small  valley,  and  ascending  a  gentle 
swell  of  land.  As  we  reached  the  summit,  we  beheld  a  gang  of 
wild  horses  about  a  mile  off.  Beatte  was  immediately  on  the 
alert,  and  no  longer  thought  of  buffalo  hunting.  He  was  mounted 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  159 


on  his  powerful  half-wild  horse,  with  a  lariat  coiled  at  the  saddle 
bow,  and  set  off  in  pursuit ;  while  we  remained  on  a  rising  ground 
watching  his  manoeuvres  with  great  solicitude.  Taking  advan 
tage  of  a  strip  of  woodland,  he  stole  quietly  along,  so  as  to  get 
close  to  them  before  he  was  perceived.  The  moment  they  caught 
sight  of  him  a  grand  scamper  took  place.  We  watched  him 
skirting  along  the  horizon  like  a  privateer  in  full  chase  of  a  mer 
chantman  ;  at  length  he  passed  over  the  brow  of  a  ridge,  and 
down  into  a  shallow  valley  ;  in  a  few  moments  he  was  on  the 
opposite  hill,  and  close  upon  one  of  the  horses.  He  was  soon 
head  and  head,  and  appeared  to  be  trying  to  noose  his  prey  ; 
but  they  both  disappeared  again  below  the  hill,  and  we  saw  no 
more  of  them.  It  turned  out  afterwards,  that  he  had  noosed  a 
powerful  horse,  but  could  not  hold  him.  and  had  lost  his  lariat  in 
the  attempt. 

While  we  were  waiting  for  his  return,  we  perceived  two  buf 
falo  bulls  descending  a  slope,  towards  a  stream,  which  wound 
through  a  ravine  fringed  with  trees.  The  young  Count  and 
myself  endeavored  to  get  near  them  under  covert  of  the  trees. 
They  discovered  us  while  we  were  yet  three  or  four  hundred 
yards  off,  and  turning  about,  retreated  up  the  rising  ground. 
We  urged  our  horses  across  the  ravine,  and  gave  chase.  The 
immense  weight  of  head  and  shoulders  causes  the  buffalo  to 
labor  heavily  up  hill ;  but  it  accelerates  his  descent.  We 
had  the  advantage,  therefore,  and  gained  rapidly  upon  the 
fugitives,  though  it  was  difficult  to  get  our  horses  to  approach 
them,  their  very  scent  inspiring  them  with  terror.  The  Count, 
who  had  a  double-barrelled  gun  loaded  with  ball,  fired,  but 
it  missed.  The  bulls  now  altered  their  course,  and  galloped 
down  hill  with  headlong  rapidity.  As  they  ran  in  different 


160  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


directions,  we  each  singled  one  and  separated.  I  was  pro 
vided  with  a  brace  of  veteran  brass-barrelled  pistols,  which  I 
had  borrowed  at  Fort  Gibson,  and  which  had  evidently  seen  some 
service.  Pistols  are  very  effective  in  buffalo  hunting,  as  the 
hunter  can  ride  up  close  to  the  animal,  and  fire  at  it  while  at  full 
speed  ;  whereas  the  long  heavy  rifles  used  on  the  frontier,  cannot 
be  easily  managed,  nor  discharged  with  accurate  aim  from  horse 
back.  My  object,  therefore,  was  to  get  within  pistol  shot  of  the 
buffalo.  This  was  no  very  easy  matter.  I  was  well  mounted  on 
a  horse  of  excellent  speed  and  bottom,  that  seemed  eager  for  the 
chase,  and  soon  overtook  the  game ;  but  the  moment  he  came 
nearly  parallel,  he  would  keep  sheering  off,  with  ears  forked  and 
pricked  forward,  and  every  symptom  of  aversion  and  alarm.  It 
was  no  wonder.  Of  all  animals,  a  buffalo,  when  close  pressed 
by  the  hunter,  has  an  aspect  the  most  diabolical.  His  two  short 
black  horns,  curve  out  of  a  huge  frontlet  of  shaggy  hair ;  his 
eyes  glow  like  coals  ;  his  mouth  is  open,  his  tongue  parched  and 
drawn  up  into  a  half  crescent ;  his  tail  is  erect,  and  tufted  and 
whisking  about  in  the  air,  he  is  a  perfect  picture  of  mingled  rage 
and  terror. 

It  was  with  difficulty  I  urged  my  horse  sufficiently  near, 
when,  taking  aim,  to  my  chagrin,  both  pistols  missed  fire.  Un 
fortunately  the  locks  of  these  veteran  weapons  were  so  much 
worn,  that  in  the  gallop,  the  priming  had  been  shaken  out  of  the 
pans.  At  the  snapping  of  the  last  pistol  I  was  close  upon  the 
buffalo,  when,  in  his  despair,  he  turned  round  with  a  sudden 
snort  and  rushed  upon  me.  My  horse  wheeled  about  as  if  on  a 
pivot,  made  a  convulsive  spring,  and,  as  I  had  been  leaning  on 
one  side  with  pistol  extended,  I  came  near  being  thrown  at  the 
feet  of  the  buffalo. 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  161 


Three  or  four  bounds  of  the  horse  carried  us  out  of  the  reach 
of  the  enemy ;  who,  having  merely  turned  in  desperate  self-de 
fence,  quickly  resumed  his  flight.  As  soon  as  I  could  gather  in 
my  panic-stricken  horse,  and  prime  the  pistols  afresh,  I  again 
spurred  in  pursuit  of  the  buffalo,  who  had  slackened  his  speed  to 
take  breath.  On  my  approach  he  again  set  off  full  tilt,  heaving 
himself  forward  with  a  heavy  rolling  gallop,  dashing  with  head 
long  precipitation  through  brakes  and  ravines,  while  several  deer 
and  wolves,  startled  from  their  coverts  by  his  thundering  career, 
ran  helter-skelter  to  right  and  left  across  the  waste. 

A  gallop  across  the  prairies  in  pursuit  of  game,  is  by  no 
means  so  smooth  a  career  as  those  may  imagine,  who  have  only 
the  idea  of  an  open  level  plain.  It  is  true,  the  prairies  of  the 
hunting  ground  are  not  so  much  entangled  with  flowering  plants 
and  long  herbage  as  the  lower  prairies,  and  are  principally  cov 
ered  with  short  buffalo  grass ;  but  they  are  diversified  by  hill 
and  dale,  and  where  most  level,  are  apt  to  be  cut  up  by  deep  rifts 
and  ravines,  made  by  torrents  after  rains  ;  and  which,  yawning 
from  an  even  surface,  are  almost  like  pitfalls  in  the  way  of  the 
hunter,  checking  him  suddenly,  when  in  full  career,  or  subjecting 
him  to  the  risk  of  limb  and  life.  The  plains,  too,  are  beset  by 
burrowing  holes  of  small  animals,  in  which  the  horse  is  apt  to 
sink  to  the  fetlock,  and  throw  both  himself  and  his  rider.  The 
late  rain  had  covered  some  parts  of  the  prairie,  where  the  ground 
was  hard,  with  a  thin  sheet  of  water,  through  which  the  horse 
had  to  splash  his  way.  In  other  parts  there  were  innumerable 
shallow  hollows,  eight  or  ten  feet  in  diameter,  made  by  the  buffa 
loes,  who  wallow  in  sand  and  mud  like  swine.  These  being  filled 
with  water,  shone  like  mirrors,  so  that  the  horse  was  continually 
leaping  over  them  or  springing  on  one  side.  We  had  reached, 


162  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


too,  a  rough  part  of  the  prairie,  very  much  broken  and  cut  up  ; 
the  buffalo,  who  was  running  for  life,  took  no  heed  to  his  course, 
plunging  down  break-neck  ravines,  where  it  was  necessary  to  skirt 
the  borders  in  search  of  a  safer  descent.  At  length  we  came  to 
where  a  winter  stream  had  torn  a  deep  chasm  across  the  whole 
prairie,  leaving  open  jagged  rocks,  and  forming  a  long  glen  bor 
dered  by  steep  crumbling  cliffs  of  mingled  stone  and  clay.  Down 
one  of  these  the  buffalo  flung  himself,  half  tumbling,  half  leaping, 
and  then  scuttled  along  the'  bottom ;  while  I,  seeing  all  further 
pursuit  useless,  pulled  up,  and  gazed  quietly  after  him  from  the 
border  of  the  cliff,  until  he  disappeared  amidst  the  windings  of 
the  ravine. 

Nothing  now  remained  but  to  turn  my  steed  and  rejoin  my 
companions.  Here  at  first  was  some  little  difficulty.  The  ardor 
of  the  chase  had  betrayed  me  into  a  long,  heedless  gallop.  I 
now  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  lonely  waste,  in  which  the 
prospect  was  bounded  by  undulating  swells  of  land,  naked  and 
uniform,  where,  from  the  deficiency  of  landmarks  and  distinct 
features,  an  inexperienced  man  may. become  bewildered,  and  lose 
his  way  as  readily  as  in  the  wastes  of  the  ocean.  The  day,  too, 
was  overcast,  so  that  I  could  not  guide  myself  by  the  sun ;  my 
only  mode  was  to  retrace  the  track  my  horse  had  made  in 
coming,  though  this  I  would  often  lose  sight  of,  where  the 
ground  was  covered  with  parched  herbage. 

To  one  unaccustomed  to  it,  there  is  something  inexpressibly 
lonely  in  the  solitude  of  a  prairie.  The  loneliness  of  a  forest 
seems  nothing  to  it.  There  the  view  is  shut  in  by  trees,  and  the 
imagination  is  left  free  to  picture  some  livelier  scene  beyond. 
But  here  we  have  an  immense  extent  of  landscape  without  a  sign 
of  human  existence.  We  have  the  consciousness  of  being  far,  far 


A  TOUR  ON   THE  PRAIRIES.  163 


beyond  the  bounds  of  human  habitation  ;  we  feel  as  if  moving  in 
the  midst  of  a  desert  world.  As  niy  horse  lagged  slowly  back 
over  the  scenes  of  our  late  scamper,  and  the  delirium  of  the  chase 
had  passed  away,  I  was  peculiarly  sensible  to  these  circumstances. 
The  silence  of  the  waste  was  now  and  then  broken  by  the  cry  of 
a  distant  flock  of  pelicans,  stalking  like  spectres  about  a  shallow 
pool ;  sometimes  by  the  sinister  croaking  of  a  raven  in  the  air, 
while  occasionally  a  scoundrel  wolf  would  scour  off  from  before 
me ;  and,  having  attained  a  safe  distance,  would  sit  down  and 
howl  and  whine  with  tones  that  gave  a  dreariness  to  the  sur 
rounding  solitude. 

After  pursuing  my  way  for  some  time,  I  descried  a  horseman 
on  the  edge  of  a  distant  hill,  and  soon  recognized  him  to  be  the 
Count.  He  had  been  equally  unsuccessful  with  myself;  we  were 
shortly  after  rejoined  by  our  worthy  comrade,  the  Virtuoso,  who, 
with  spectacles  on  nose,  had  made  two  or  three  ineffectual  shots 
from  horseback. 

We  determined  not  to  seek  the  camp  until  we  had  made  one 
more  effort.  Casting  our  eyes  about  the  surrounding  waste,  we 
descried  a  herd  of  buffalo  about  two  miles  distant,  scattered 
apart,  and  quietly  grazing  near  a  small  strip  of  trees  and  bushes. 
It  required  but  little  stretch  of  fancy  to  picture  them  so  many 
cattle  grazing  on  the  edge  of  a  common,  and  that  the  grove 
might  shelter  some  lowly  farmhouse. 

We  now  formed  our  plan  to  circumvent  the  herd,  and  by 
getting  on  the  other  side  of  them,  to  hunt  them  in  the  direction 
where  we  knew  our  camp  to  be  situated :  otherwise,  the  pursuit 
might  take  us  to  such  a  distance  as  to  render  it  impossible  to 
find  our  way  back  before  nightfall.  Taking  a  wide  circuit  there 
fore,  we  moved  slowly  and  cautiously,  pausing  occasionally,  when 


164  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


we  saw  any  of  the  herd  desist  from  grazing.  The  wind  fortu 
nately  set  from  them,  otherwise  they  might  have  scented  us  and 
have  taken  the  alarm.  In  this  way,  we  succeeded  in  getting 
round  the  herd  without  disturbing  it.  It  consisted  of  about 
forty  head,  bulls,  cows  and  calves.  Separating  to  some  distance 
from  each  other,  we  now  approached  slowly  in  a  parallel  line, 
hoping  by  degrees  to  steal  near  without  exciting  attention.  They 
began,  however,  to  move  off  quietly,  stopping  at  every  step  or  two  * 
to  graze,  when  suddenly  a  bull  that,  unobserved  by  us,  had  been 
taking  his  siesta  under  a  clump  of  trees  to  our  left,  roused  him 
self  from  his  lair,  and  hastened  to  join  his  companions.  We 
were  still  at  a  considerable  distance,  but  the  game  had  taken  the 
alarm.  We  quickened  our  pace,  they  broke  into  a  gallop,  and 
now  commenced  a  full  chase. 

As  the  ground  was  level,  they  shouldered  along  with  great 
speed,  following  each  other  in  a  line  ;  two  or  three  bulls  bringing 
up  the  rear,  the  last  of  whom,  from  his  enormous  size  and 
venerable  frontlet,  and  beard  of  sunburnt  hair,  looked  like  the 
patriarch  of  the  herd ;  and  as  if  he  might  long  have  reigned  the 
monarch  of  the  prairie. 

There  is  a  mixture  of  the  awful  and  the  comic  in  the  look  of 
these  huge  animals,  as  they  bear  their  great  bulk  forwards,  with 
an  up  and  down  motion  of  the  unwieldy  head  and  shoulders  ; 
their  tail  cocked  up  like  the  cue  of  Pantaloon  in  a  pantomime, 
the  end  whisking  about  in  a  fierce  yet  whimsical  style,  and  their 
eyes  glaring  venomously  with  an  expression  of  fright  and  fury. 

For  some  time  I  kept  parallel  with  the  line,  without  being 
able  to  force  my  horse  within  pistol  shot,  so  much  had  he  been 
alarmed  by  the  assault  of  the  buffalo  in  the  preceding  chase.  At 
length  I  succeeded,  but  was  again  balked  by  my  pistols  missing 


A  TOUR  ON   THE  PRAIRIES.  165 


fire.  My  companions,  whose  horses  were  less  fleet,  and  more 
way-worn,  could  not  overtake  the  herd ;  at  length  Mr.  L.,  who 
was  in  the  rear  of  the  line,  and  losing  ground,  levelled  his 
double-barrelled  gun,  and  fired  a  long  raking  shot."  It  struck  a 
buffalo  just  above  the  loins,  broke  its  back-bone,  and  brought  it 
to  the  ground.  He  stopped  and  alighted  to  dispatch  his  prey, 
when  borrowing  his  gun,  which  had  yet  a  charge  remaining  in  it, 
I  put  my  horse  to  his  speed,  again  overtook  the  herd  which  was 
thundering  along,  pursued  by  the  Count.  With  my  present 
weapon  there  was  no  need  of  urging  my  horse  to  such  close 
quarters  ;  galloping  along  parallel,  therefore,  I  singled  out  a 
buffalo,  and  by  a  fortunate  shot  brought  it  down  on  the  spot. 
The  ball  had  struck  a  vital  part ;  it  could  not  move  from  the 
place  where  it  fell,  but  lay  there  struggling  in  mortal  agony,  while 
the  rest  of  the  herd  kept  on  their  headlong  career  across  the 
prairie. 

Dismounting,  I  now  fettered  my  horse  to  prevent  his  straying, 
and  advanced  to  contemplate  my  victim.  I  am  nothing  of  a 
sportsman  ;  I  had  been  prompted  to  this  unwonted  exploit  by  the 
magnitude  of  the  game,  arid  the  excitement  of  an  adventurous 
chase.  Now  that  the  excitement  was  over,  I  could  not  but  look 
with  commiseration  upon  the  poor  animal  that  lay  struggling  and 
bleeding  at  iny  feet.  His  very  size  and  importance,  which  had 
before  inspired  me  with  eagerness,  now  increased  my  compunc 
tion.  It  seemed  as  if  I  had  inflicted  pain  in  proportion  to  the 
bulk  of  my  victim,  and  as  if  there  were  a  hundred-fold  greater 
waste  of  life  than  there  would  have  been  in  the  destruction  of  an 

* 

animal  of  inferior  size. 

To  add  to  these  after-qualms  of  conscience,  the  poor  animal 
lingered  in  his  agony.  He  had  evidently  received  a  mortal 


166  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


wound,  but  death  might  be  long  in  coming.  It  would  not  do  to 
leave  him  here  to  be  torn  piecemeal,  while  yet  alive,  by  the  wolves 
that  had  already  snuffed  his  blood,  and  were  skulking  and  howl 
ing  at  a  distance,  and  waiting  for  my  departure  ;  and  by  the 
ravens  that  were  flapping  about,  croaking  dismally  in  the  air.  It 
became  now  an  act  of  mercy  to  give  him  his  quietus,  and  put 
him  out  of  his  misery.  I  primed  one  of  the  pistols,  therefore, 
and  advanced  close  up  to  the  buffalo.  To  inflict  a  wound  thus 
in  cold  blood,  I  found  a  totally  different  thing  from  firing  in  the 
heat  of  the  chase.  Taking  aim,  however,  just  behind  the  fore- 
shoulder,  my  pistol  for  once  proved  true  ;  the  ball  must  have 
passed  through  the  heart,  for  the  animal  gave  one  convulsive 
throe  and  expired. 

While  I  stood  meditating  and  moralizing  over  the  wreck  I 
had  so  wantonly  produced,  with  my  horse  grazing  near  me,  I  was 
rejoined  by  my  fellow-sportsman,  the  Virtuoso  ;  who,  being  a 
man  of  universal  adroitness,  and  withal,  more  experienced  and 
hardened  in  the  gentle  art  of  "  venerie,"  soon  managed  to  carve 
out  the  tongue  of  the  buffalo,  and  delivered  it  to  me  to  bear  back 
to  the  camp  as  a  trophy. 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  167 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A    COMRADE    LOST. A    SEARCH  FOR  THE  CAMP. THE    COMMISSIONER, 

THE    WILD    HORSE,    AND    THE    BUFFALO. A    WOLF    SERENADE. 

OUR  solicitude  was  now  awakened  for  the  young  Count.  With 
his  usual  eagerness  and  impetuosity  he  had  persisted  in  urging 
his  jaded  horse  in  pursuit  of  the  herd,  unwilling  to  return  with 
out  having  likewise  killed  a  buffalo.  In  this  way  he  had  kept 
on  following  them,  hither  and  thither,  and  occasionally  firing  an 
ineffectual  shot,  until  by  degrees  horseman  and  herd  became  in 
distinct  in  the  distance,  and  at  length  swelling  ground  and  strips 
of  trees  and  thickets  hid  them  entirely  from  sight. 

By  the  time  my  friend,  the  amateur,  joined  me,  the  young 
Count  had  been  long  lost  to  view.  We  held  a  consultation  on 
the  matter.  Evening  was  drawing  on.  Were  we  to  pursue  him, 
it  would  be  dark  before  we  should  overtake  him,  granting  we  did 
not  entirely  lose  trace  of  him  in  the  gloom.  We  should  then 
be  too  much  bewildered  to  find  our  way  back  to  the  encampment ; 
even  now,  our  return  would  be  difficult.  We  determined,  there 
fore,  to  hasten  to  the  camp  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  send  out 
our  half-breeds,  and  some  of  the  veteran  hunters,  skilled  in  cruis 
ing  about  the  prairies,  to  search  for  our  companion. 

We  accordingly  set  forward  in  what  we  supposed  to  be  the 
direction  of  the  camp.  Our  weary  horses  could  hardly  be  urged 
beyond  a  walk.  The  twilight  thickened  upon  us  ;  the  landscape 
grew  gradually  indistinct :  we  tried  in  vain  to  recognize  various 
landmarks  which  we  had  noted  in  the  morning.  The  features  of 
the  prairies  are  so  similar  as  to  baffle  the  eye  of  any  but  an 


168  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


Indian,  or  a  practised  woodman.  At  length  night  closed  in. 
We  hoped  to  see  the  distant  glare  of  camp  fires  ;  we  listened  to 
catch  the  sound  of  the  bells  about  the  necks  of  the  grazing 
horses.  Once  or  twice  we  thought  we  distinguished  them  ;  we 
were  mistaken.  Nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  a  monotonous 
concert  of  insects,  with  now  and  then  the  dismal  howl  of  wolves 
mingling  with  the  night  breeze.  "We  began  to  think  of  halting 
for  the  night,  and  bivouacking  under  the  lee  of  some  thicket. 
We  had  implements  to  strike  a  light :  there  was  plenty  of  fire 
wood  at  hand,  and  the  tongues  of  our  buffaloes  would  furnish  us 
with  a  repast. 

Just  as  we  were  preparing  to  dismount,  we  heard  the  report 
of  a  rifle,  and  shortly  after,  the  notes  of  the  bugle,  calling  up 
the  night  guard.  Pushing  forward  in  that  direction,  the  camp 
fires  soon  broke  on  our  sight,  gleaming  at  a  distance  from  among 
the  thick  groves  of  an  alluvial  bottom. 

As  we  entered  the  camp,  we  found  it  a  scene  of  rude  hunters' 
revelry  and  wassail.  There  had  been  a  grand  day's  sport,  in 
which  all  had  taken  a  part.  Eight  buffaloes  had  been  killed ; 
roaring  fires  were  blazing  on  every  side  ;  all  hands  were  feasting 
upon  roasted  joints,  broiled  marrow-bones,  and  the  juicy  hump, 
far-famed  among  the  epicures  of  the  prairies.  Right  glad  were 
we  to  dismount  and  partake  of  the  sturdy  cheer,  for  we  had  been 
on  our  weary  horses  since  morning  without  tasting  food. 

As  to  our  worthy  friend,  the  Commissioner,  with  whom  we 
had  parted  company  at  the  outset  of  this  eventful  day,  we  found 
him  lying  in  a  corner  of  the  tent,  much  the  worse  for  wear,  in  the 
course  of  a  successful  hunting  match. 

-  It  seems  that  our  man,  Beatte,  in  his  zeal  to  give  the  Commis 
sioner  an  opportunity  of  distinguishing  himself,  and  gratifying 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  169 


his  hunting  propensities,  had  mounted  him  upon  his  half-wild 
horse,  and  started  him  in  pursuit  of  a  huge  buffalo  bull,  that  had 
already  been  frightened  by  the  hunters.  The  horse,  which  was 
fearless  as  his  owner,  and.  like  him,  had  a  considerable  spice  of 
devil  in  his  composition,  and  who,  beside,  had  been  made  familiar 
with  the  game,  no  sooner  came  in  sight  and  scent  of  the  buffalo, 
than  he  set  off  full  speed,  bearing  the  involuntary  hunter  hither 
and  thither,  and  whither  he  would  not — up  hill  and  down  hill — 
leaping  pools  and  brooks — dashing  through  glens  and  gullies,  un 
til  he  came  up  with  the  game.  Instead  of  sheering  off,  he 
crowded  upon  the  buffalo.  The  Commissioner,  almost  in  self- 
defence,  discharged  both  barrels  of  a  double-barrelled  gun  into 
the  enemy.  The  broadside  took  effect,  but  was  not  mortal.  The 
buffalo  turned  furiously  upon  his  pursuer  :  the  horse,  as  he  had 
been  taught  by  his  owner,  wheeled  off.  The  buffalo  plunged  after 
him.  The  worthy  Commissioner,  in  great  extremity,  drew  his 
sole  pistol  from  his  holster,  fired  it  off  as  a  stern-chaser,  shot  the 
buffalo  full  in  the  breast,  and  brought  him  lumbering  forward  to 
the  earth. 

The  Commissioner  returned  to  camp,  lauded  on  all  sides  for 
his  signal  exploit ;  but  grievously  battered  and  way-worn.  He 
had  been  a  hard  rider  per  force,  and  a  victor  in  spite  of  himself. 
He  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  compliments  and  congratulations ; 
had  but  little  stomach  for  the  hunter's  fare  placed  before  him, 
and  soon  retreated  to  stretch  his  limbs  in  the  tent,  declaring  that 
nothing  should  tempt  him  again  to  mount  that  half  devil  Indian 
hojse,  and  that  he  had  enough  of  buffalo  hunting  for  the  rest  of 
his  life. 

It  was  too  dark  now  to  send  any  one  in  search  of  the  young 
Count.  Guns,  however,  were  fired,  and  the  bugle  sounded  from 


170  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 

time  to  time,  to  guide  him  to  the  camp,  if  by  chance  he  should 
straggle  within  hearing ;  but  the  night  advanced  without  his 
making  his  appearance.  There  was  not  a  star  visible  to  guide 
him,  and  we  concluded  that  wherever  he  was,  he  would  give  up 
wandering  in  the  dark,  and  bivouack  until  daybreak. 

It  was  a  raw,  overcast  night.  The  carcasses  of  the  buffaloes 
killed  in  the  vicinity  of  the  camp,  had  drawn  about  it  an  unusual 
number  of  wolves,  who  kept  up  the  most  forlorn  concert  of  whin 
ing  yells,  prolonged  into  dismal  cadences  and  inflexions,  literally 
converting  the  surrounding  waste  into  a  howling  wilderness. 
Nothing  is  more  melancholy  than  the  midnight  howl  of  a  wolf  on 
a  prairie.  What  rendered  the  gloom  and  wildness  of  the  night 
and  the  savage  concert  of  the  neighboring  waste  the  more  dreary 
to  us,  was  the  idea  of  the  lonely  and  exposed  situation  of  our 
young  and  inexperienced  comrade.  We  trusted,  however,  that 
on  the  return  of  daylight,  he  would  find  his  way  back  to  the 
camp,  and  then  all  the  events  of  the  night  would  be  remembered 
only  as  so  many  savory  gratifications  of  his  passion  for  adventure. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

A    HUNT    FOR    A    LOST    COMRADE. 

THE  morning  dawned,  and  an  hour  or  two  passed  without  any 
tidings  of  the  Count.  We  began  to  feel  uneasiness  lest,  having 
no  compass  to  aid  him,  he  might  perplex  himself  and  wander  in 
some  opposite  direction.  Stragglers  are  thus  often  lost  for  days  ; 
what  made  us  the  more  anxious  about  him  was,  that  he  had  no 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  171 


provisions  with  him,  was  totally  unversed  in  "  wood  craft,"  and 
liable  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  some  lurking  or  straggling  party 
of  savages. 

As  soon  as  our  people,  therefore,  had  made  their  breakfast, 
we  beat  up  for  volunteers  for  a  cruise  in  search  of  the  Count.  A 
dozen  of  the  rangers,  mounted  on  some  of  the  best  and  freshest 
horses,  and  armed  with  rifles,  were  soon  ready  to  start ;  our  half- 
breeds  Beatte  and  Antoine  also,  with  our  little  mongrel  French 
man,  were  zealous  in  the  cause ;  so  Mr.  L.  and  myself  taking  the 
lead,  to  show  the  way  to  the  scene  of  our  little  hunt,  where  we 
had  parted  company  with  the  Count,  we  all  set  out  across  the 
prairie.  A  ride  of  a  couple  of  miles  brought  us  to  the  carcasses  of 
the  two  buffaloes  we  had  killed.  A  legion  of  ravenous  wolves  were 
already  gorging  upon  them.  At  our  approach  they  reluctantly 
drew  off,  skulking  with  a  caitiff  look  to  the  distance  of  a  few  hun 
dred  yards,  and  there  awaiting  our  departure,  that  they  might 
return  to  their  banquet. 

I  conducted  Beatte  and  Antoine  to  the  spot  whence  the 
young  Count  had  continued  the  chase  alone.  It  was  like  putting 
hounds  upon  the  scent.  They  immediately  distinguished  the 
track  of  his  horse  amidst  the  trampings  of  the  buffaloes,  and  set 
off  at  a  round  pace,  following  with  the  eye  in  nearly  a  straight 
course,  for  upwards  of  a  mile,  when  they  came  to  where  the  herd 
had  divided,  and  run  hither  and  thither  about  a  meadow.  Here 
the  track  of  the  horse's  hoofs  wandered  and  doubled  and  often 
crossed  each  other  ;  our  half-breeds  were  like  hounds  at  fault. 
While  we  were  at  a  halt,  waiting  until  they  should  unravel  the 
maze,  Beatte  suddenly  gave  a  short  Indian  whoop,  or  rather  yelp, 
and  pointed  to  a  distant  hill.  On  regarding  it  attentively,  we 
perceived  a  horseman  on  the  summit.  "  It  is  the  Count !';  cried 


172  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


Beatte,  and  set  off  at  full  gallop,  followed  by  the  whole  company. 
In  a  few  moments  he  checked  his  horse.  Another  figure  on 
horseback  had  appeared  on  the  brow  of  the  hill.  This  completely 
altered  the  case.  The  Count  had  wandered  off  alone ;  no  other 
person  had  been  missing  from  the  camp.  If  one  of  these  horse 
men  were  indeed  the  Count,  the  other  must  be  an  Indian.  If  an 
Indian,  in  all  probability  a  Pawnee.  Perhaps  they  were  both  In 
dians  ;  scouts  of  some  party  lurking  in  the  vicinity.  While 
these  and  other  suggestions  were  hastily  discussed,  the  two  horse 
men  glided  down  from  the  profile  of  the  hile,  and  we  lost  sight 
of  them.  One  of  the  rangers  suggested  that  there  might  be  a 
straggling  party  of  Pawnees  behind  the  hill,  and  that  the  Count 
might  have  fallen  into  their  hands.  The  idea  had  an  electric  ef 
fect  upon  the  little  troop.  In  an  instant  every  horse  was  at  full 
speed,  the  half-breeds  leading  the  way ;  the  young  rangers  as 
they  rode  set  up  wild  yelps  of  exultation  at  the  thoughts  of  hav 
ing  a  brush  with  the  Indians.  A  neck  or  nothing  gallop  brought 
us  to  the  skirts  of  the  hill,  and  revealed  our  mistake.  In  a  ravine 
we  found  the  two  horsemen  standing  by  the  carcass  of  a  buffalo 
which  they  had  killed.  They  proved  to  be  two  rangers,  who,  un- 
perceived,  had  left  the  camp  a  little  before  us,  and  had  come  here 
in  a  direct  line,  while  we  had  made  a  wide  circuit  about  the 
prairie. 

This  episode  being  at  an  end,  and  the  sudden  excitement 
being  over,  we  slowly  and  coolly  retraced  our  steps  to  the  meadow ; 
but  it  was  some  time  before  our  half-breeds  could  again  get  on 
the  track  of  the  Count.  Having  at  length  found  it,  they  suc 
ceeded  in  following  it  through  all  its  doublings,  until  they  came 
to  where  it  was  no  longer  mingled  with  the  tramp  of  buffaloes, 
but  became  single  and  separate,  wandering  here  and  there  about 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  173 


the  prairies,  but  always  tending  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that  of 
the  camp.  Here  the  Count  had  evidently  given  up  the  pursuit 
of  the  herd,  and  had  endeavored  to  find  his  way  to  the  encamp 
ment,  but  had  become  bewildered  as  the  evening  shades  thickened 
around  him,  and  had  completely  mistaken  the  points  of  the  com 
pass. 

In  all  this  quest' our  half-breeds  displayed  that  quickness  of 
eye,  in  following  up  a  track,  for  which  Indians  are  so  noted. 
Beatte,  especially,  was  as  stanch  as  a  veteran  hound.  Sometimes 
he  would  keep  forward  on  an  easy  trot ;  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground  a  little  ahead  of  his  Korse,  clearly  distinguishing  prints 
in  the  herbage  which  to  me  were  invisible,  excepting  on  the 
closest  inspection.  Sometimes  he  would  pull  up  and  walk  his  horse 
slowly,  regarding  the  ground  intensely,  where  to  my  eye  nothing 
was  apparent.  Then  he  would  dismount,  lead  his  horse  by  the 
bridle,  and  advance  cautiously  step  by  step,  with  his  face  bent 
towards  the  earth,  just  catching,  here  and  there,  a  casual  indica 
tion  of  the  vaguest  kind  to  guide  him  onward.  In  some  places 
where  the  soil  was  hard,  and  the  grass  withered,  he  would  lose 
the  track  entirely,  and  wander  backwards  and  forwards,  and  right 
and  left,  in  search  of  it ;  returning  occasionally  to  the  place 
where  he  had  lost  sight  of  it,  to  take  a  new  departure.  If  this 
failed  he  would  examine  the  banks  of  the  neighboring  streams, 
or  the  sandy  bottoms  of  the  ravines,  in  hopes  of  finding  tracks 
where  the  Count  had  crossed.  When  he  again  came  upon  the 
track,  he  would  remount  his  horse,  and  resume  his  onward  course. 
At  length,  after  crossing  a  stream,  in  the  crumbling  banks  of 
which  the  hoofs  of  the  horse  were  deeply  dented,  we  came  upon 
a  high  dry  paririe,  where  our  half-breeds  were  completely  baffled. 
Not  a  foot-print  was  to  be  discerned,  though  they  searched  in 


174  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


every  direction  ;  and  Beatte  at  length  coming  to  a  pause,  shook 
his  head  despondingly. 

Just  then  a  small  herd  of  deer,  roused  from  a  neighboring 
ravine,  came  bounding  by  us.  Beatte  sprang  from  his  horse, 
levelled  his  rifle,  and  wounded  one  slightly,  but  without  bringing 
it  to  the  ground.  The  report  of  the  rifle  was  almost  immediately 
followed  by  a  long  halloo  from  a  distance.  We  looked  around  but 
could  see  nothing.  Another  long  halloo  was  heard,  and  at  length 
a  horseman  was  descried,  emerging  out  of  a  skirt  of  forest.  A 
single  glance  showed  him  to  be  the  young  Count ;  there  was  a 
universal  shout  and  scamper,  every  one  setting  off  full  gallop  to 
greet  him.  It  was  a  joyful  meeting  to  both  parties  ;  for,  much 
anxiety  had  been  felt  by  us  all  on  account  of  his  youth  and  inex 
perience,  and  for  his  part,  with  all  his  love  of  adventure,  he 
seemed  right  glad  to  be  once  more  among  his  friends. 

As  we  supposed,  he  had  completely  mistaken  his  course  on 
the  preceding  evening,  and  had  wandered  about  until  dark,  when 
he  thought  of  bivouacking.  The  night  was  cold,  yet  he  feared 
to  make  a  fire,  lest  it  might  betray  him  to  some  lurking  party  of 
Indians.  Hobbling  his  horse  with  his  pocket  handkerchief,  and 
leaving  him  to  graze  on  the  margin  of  the  prairie,  he  clambered 
into  a  tree,  fixed  his  saddle  in  the  fork  of  the  branches,  and 
placing  himself  securely  with  his  back  against  the  trunk,  pre 
pared  to  pass  a  dreary  and  anxious  night,  regaled  occasionally 
with  the  bowlings  of  the  wolves.  He  was  agreeably  disappointed. 
The  fatigue  of  the  day  soon  brought  on  a  sound  sleep  ;  he  had 
delightful  dreams  about  his  home  in  Switzerland,  nor  did  he  wake 
until  it  was  broad  daylight. 

He  then  descended  from  his  roosting-place,  mounted  his 
horse,  and  rode  to  the  naked  summit  of  a  hill,  whence  he  beheld 


A  TOUR  ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  175 


a  trackless  wilderness  around  him,  but,  at  no  great  distance,  the 
Grand  Canadian,  winding  its  way  between  borders  of  forest  land. 
The  sight  of  this  river  consoled  him  with  the  idea  that,  should 
he  fail  in  finding  his  way  back  to  the  camp,  or,  in  being  found  by 
some  party  of  his  comrades,  he  might  follow  the  course  of  the 
stream,  which  could  not  fail  to  conduct  him  to  some  frontier  post, 
or  Indian  hamlet.  So  closed  the  events  of  our  hap-hazard  buffalo 
hunt. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A    REPUBLIC    OF    PRAIRIE    DOGS. 

ON  returning  from  our  expedition  in  quest  of  the  young  Count, 
I  learned  that  a  burrow,  or  village,  as  it  is  termed,  of  prairie 
dogs  had  been  discovered  on  the  level  summit  of  a  hill,  about  a 
mile  from  the  camp.  Having  heard  much  of  the  habits  and 
peculiarities  of  these  little  animals,  I  determined  to  pay  a  visit 
to  the  community.  The  prairie  dog  is,  in  fact,  one  of  the  curios 
ities  of  the  Far  West,  about  which  travellers  delight  to  tell  mar 
vellous  tales,  endowing  him  at  times  with  something  of  the 
politic  and  social  habits  of  a  rational  being,  and  giving  him 
systems  of  civil  government  and  domestic  economy,  almost  equal 
to  what  they  used  to  bestow  upon  the  beaver. 

The  prairie  dog  is  an  animal  of  the  coney  kind,  and  about 
the  size  of  a  rabbit.  He  is  of  a  sprightly  mercurial  nature  ; 
quick,  sensitive,  and  somewhat  petulant.  He  is  very  gregarious, 
living  in  large  communities,  sometimes  of  several  acres  in  extent, 
where  innumerable  little  heaps  of  earth  show  the  entrances  to 


176  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


the  subterranean  cells  of  the  inhabitants,  and  the  well  beaten 
tracks,  like  lanes  and  streets,  show  their  mobility  and  restless 
ness.  According  to  the  accounts  given  of  them,  they  would 
seem  to  be  continually  full  of  sport,  business,  and  public  affairs  ; 
whisking  about  hither  and  thither,  as  if  on  gossiping  visits  to 
each  other's  houses,  or  congregating  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  or 
after  a  shower,  and  gambolling  together  in  the  open  air.  Some 
times,  especially  when  the  moon  shines,  they  pass  half  the  night 
in  revelry,  barking  or  yelping  with  short,  quick,  yet  weak  tones, 
like  those  of  very  young  puppies.  While  in  the  height  of  their 
playfulness  and  clamor,  however,  should  there  be  the  least  alarm, 
they  all  vanish  into  their  cells  in  an  instant,  and  the  village 
remains  blank  and  silent.  In  case  they  are  hard  pressed  by  their 
pursuers,  without  any  hope  of  escape,  they  will  assume  a  pugna 
cious  air,  and  a  most  whimsical  look  of  impotent  wrath  and 
defiance. 

The  prairie  dogs  are  not  permitted  to  remain  sole  and  undis 
turbed  inhabitants  of  their  own  homes.  Owls  and  rattlesnakes 
are  said  to  take  up  their  abodes  with  them;  but  whether  as 
invited  guests  or  unwelcome  intruders,  is  a  matter  of  controversy. 
The  owls  are  of  a  peculiar  kind,  and  would  seem  to  partake  of 
the  character  of  the  hawk ;  for  they  are  taller  and  more  erect  on 
their  legs,  more  alert  in  their  looks  and  rapid  in  their  flight  than 
ordinary  owls,  and  do  not  confine  their  excursions  to  the  night, 
but  sally  forth  in  broad  day. 

Some  say  that  they  only  inhabit  cells  which  the  prairie  dogs 
have  deserted,  and  suffered  to  go  to  ruin,  in  consequence  of  the 
death  in  them  of  some  relative  ;  for  they  would  make  out  this 
little  animal  to  be  endowed  with  keen  sensibilities,  that  will  not 
permit  it  to  remain  in  the  dwelling  where  it  has  witnessed  the 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES^  177 


death  of  a  friend.  Other  fanciful  speculators  represent  the  owl 
as  a  kind  of  housekeeper  to  the  prairie  dog  ;  and,  from  having 
a  note  very  similar,  insinuate  that  it  acts,  in  a  manner,  as  family 
preceptor,  and  teaches  the  young  litter  to  bark. 

As  to  the  rattlesnake,  nothing  satisfactory  has  been  ascer 
tained  of  the  part  he  plays  in  this  most  interesting  household  ; 
though  he  is  considered  as  little  better  than  a  sycophant  and 
sharper,  that  winds  himself  into  the  concerns  of  the  honest,  cre 
dulous  little  dog,  and  takes  him  in  most  sadly.  Certain  it  is,  if 
he  acts  as  toad-eater,  he  occasionally  solaces  himself  with  more 
than  the  usual  percuiisites  of  his  order  ;  as  he  is  now  and  then 
detected  with  one  of  the  younger  members  of  the  family  in  his 
maw. 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  particulars  that  I  could  gather  about 
the  domestic  economy  of  this  little  inhabitant  of  the  prairies, 
who,  with  his  pigmy  republic,  appears  to  be  a  subject  of  much 
whimsical  speculation  and  burlesque  remarks,  among  the  hunters 
of  the  Far  West. 

It  was  towards  evening  that  I  set  out  with  a  companion,  to 
visit  the  village  in  question.  Unluckily,  it  had  been  invaded  in 
the  course  of  the  day  by  some  of  the  rangers,  who  had  shot  two 
or  three  of  its  inhabitants,  and  thrown  the  whole  sensitive  com 
munity  in  confusion.  As  we  approached,  we  could  perceive  num 
bers  of  the  inhabitants  seated  at  the  entrances  of  their  cells, 
while  sentinels  seemed  to  have  been  posted  on  the  outskirts,  to 
keep  a  look-out.  At  sight  of  us,  the  picket  guards  scampered  in 
and  gave  the  alarm  ;  whereupon  every  inhabitant  gave  a  short 
yelp,  or  bark,  and  dived  into  his  hole,  his  heels  twinkling  in  the 
air  as  if  he  had  thrown  a  somerset. 

We  traversed  the  whole  village,  or  republic,  which  covered  an 


178  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


area  of  about  thirty  acres  ;  but  not  a  whisker  of  an  inhabitant 
was  to  be  seen.  We  probed  their  cells  as  far  as  the  ramrods  of 
our  rifles  would  reach,  but  could  unearth  neither  dog,  nor  owl, 
nor  rattlesnake.  Moving  quietly  to  a  little  distance,  we  lay  down 
upon  the  ground,  and  watched  for  a  long  time,  silent  and  motion 
less.  By  and  by,  a  cautious  old  burgher  would  slowly  put  forth 
the  end  of  his  nose,  but  instantly  draw  it  in  again.  Another,  at 
a  greater  distance,  would  emerge  entirely  ;  but,  catching  a  glance 
of  us,  would  throw  a  somerset,  and  plunge  back  again  into  his 
hole.  At  length,  some  who  resided  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
village,  taking  courage  from  the  continued  stillness,  would  steal 
forth,  and  hurry  off  to  a  distant  hole,  the  residence  possibly  of 
some  family  connection,  or  gossiping  friend,  about  whose  safety 
they  were  solicitous,  or  with  whom  they  wished  to  compare  notes 
about  the  late  occurrences. 

Others,  still  more  bold,  assembled  in  little  knots,  in  the  streets 
and  public  places,  as  if  to  discuss  the  recent  outrages  offered  to 
the  commonwealth,  and  the  atrocious  murders  of  their  fellow- 
burghers. 

We  rose  from  the  ground  and  moved  forward,  to  take  a  nearer 
view  of  these  public  proceedings,  when,  yelp  !  yelp  !  yelp  ! — there 
was  a  shrill  alarm  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  ;  the  meetings 
suddenly  dispersed  ;  feet  twinkled  in  the  air  in  every  direction  ; 
and  in  an  instant  all  had  vanished  into  the  earth. 

The  dusk  of  the  evening  put  an  end  to  our  observations,  but 
the  train  of  whimsical  comparisons  produced  in  my  brain  by  the 
moral  attributes  which  I  had  heard  given  to  these  little  politic 
animals,  still  continued  after  my  return  to  camp  ;  and  late  in  the 
night,  as  I  lay  awake  after  all  the  camp  was  asleep,  and  heard  in 
the  stillness  of  the  hour,  a  faint  clamor  of  shrill  voices  from  the 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  179 


distant  village,  I  could  not  help  picturing  to  myself  the  inhabit 
ants  gathered  together  in  noisy  assemblage,  and  windy  debate, 
to  devise  plans  for  the  public  safety,  and  to  vindicate  the  invaded 
rights  and  insulted  dignity  of  the  republic, 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

A    COUNCIL    IN    THE     CAMP. REASONS    FOR    FACING    HOMEWARDS. 

HORSES   LOST. DEPARTURE  WITH    A  DETACHMENT  ON  THE  HOME 
WARD    ROUTE. SWAMP. WILD    HORSE. CAMP  SCENE  BY  NIGHT. 

THE    OWL,    HARBINGER    OF    DAWN. 

WHILE  breakfast  was  preparing,  a  council  was  held  as  to  our 
future  movements.  Symptoms  of  discontent  had  appeared  for  a 
day  or  two  past,  among  the  rangers,  most  of  whom,  unaccus 
tomed  to  the  life  of  the  prairies,  had  become  impatient  of  its 
privations,  as  well  as  the  restraints  of  the  camp.  The  want  of 
bread  had  been  felt  severely,  and  they  were  wearied  with  con 
stant  travel.  In  fact,  the  novelty  and  excitement  of  the  expedi 
tion  were  at  an  end.  They  had  hunted  the  deer,  the  bear,  the 
elk,  the  buffalo,  and  the  wild  horse,  and  IIEK!  no  further  object  of 
leading  interest  to  look  forward  to.  A  general  inclination  pre 
vailed,  therefore,  to  turn  homewards. 

Grave  reasons  disposed  the  Captain  and  his  officers  to  adopt 
this  resolution.  Our  horses  were  generally  much  jaded  by  the 
fatigues  of  travelling  and  hunting,  and  had  fallen  away  sadly  for 
want  of  good  pasturage,  and  from  being  tethered  at  night,  to 
protect  them  from  Indian  depredations.  The  late  rains,  too, 


180  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


seemed  to  have  washed  away  the  nourishment  from  the  scanty 
herbage  that  remained ;  and  since  our  encampment  during  the 
storm,  our  horses  had  lost  flesh  and  strength  rapidly.  With 
every  possible  care,  horses,  accustomed  to  grain,  and  to  the  regu 
lar  and  plentiful  nourishment  of  the  stable  and  the  farm,  lose 
heart  and  condition  in  travelling  on  the  prairies.  In  all  expedi 
tions  of  the  kind  we  were  engaged  in,  the  hardy  Indian  horses, 
which  are  generally  mustangs,  or  a  cross  of  the  wild  breed,  are  to 
be  preferred.  They  can  stand  all  fatigues,  hardships,  and  priva 
tions,  and  thrive  on  the  grasses  and  wild  herbage  of  the  plains. 

Our  men,  too,  had  acted  with  little  forethought ;  galloping 
off  whenever  they  had  a  chance,  after  the  game  that  we  encoun 
tered  while  on  the  march.  In  this  way  they  had  strained  and 
wearied  their  horses,  instead  of  husbanding  their  strength  and 
spirits.  On  a  tour  of  the  kind,  horses  should  as  seldom  .as  pos 
sible  be  put  off  of  a  quiet  walk ;  and  the  average  day's  journey 
should  not  exceed  ten  miles. 

We  had  hoped,  by  pushing  forward,  to  reach  the  bottoms  of 
the  Red  River,  which  abound  with  young  cane,  a  most  nourish 
ing  forage  for  cattle  at  this  season  of  the  year.  It  would  now 
take  us  several  days  to  arrive  there,  and  in  the  meantime  many 
of  our  horses  would  probably  give  out.  It  was  the  time,  too, 
when  the  hunting  parties  of  Indians  set  fire  to  the  prairies ;  the 
herbage,  throughout  this  part  of  the  country,  was  in  that  parched 
state,  favorable  to  combustion,  and  there  was  daily  more  and 
more  risk,"  that  the  prairies  between  us  and  the  fort  would  be  set 
on  fire  by  some  of  the  return  parties  of  Osages,  and  a  scorched 
desert  left  for  us  to  traverse.  In  a  word,  we  had  started  too  late 
in  the  season,  or  loitered  too  much  in  the  early  part  of  our 
march,  to  accomplish  our  originally-intended  tour ;  and  there 


A  TOUR  ON   THE  PRAIRIES.  181 


was  imminent  hazard,  if  we  continued  on,  that  we  should  lose  the 
greater  part  of  our  horses ;  and,  besides  suffering  various  other 
inconveniences,  be  obliged  to  return  on  foot.  It  was  determined, 
therefore,  to  give  up  all  further  progress,  and,  turning  our  faces 
to  the  southeast,  to  make  the  best  of  our  way  back  to  Fort  Gibson. 

This  resolution  being  taken,  there  was  an  immediate  eager 
ness  to  put  it  into  operation.  Several  horses,  however,  were 
missing,  and  among  others  those  of  the  Captain  and  the  Surgeon. 
Persons  had  gone  in  search  of  them,  but  the  morning  advanced 
without  any  tidings  of  them.  Our  party  in  the  meantime,  being 
all  ready  for  a  march,  the  Commissioner  determined  to  set  off 
in  the  advance,  with  his  original  escort  of  a  lieutenant  and  four 
teen  rangers,  leaving  the  Captain  to  come  on  at  his  convenience, 
with  the  main  body.  At  ten  o'clock,  we  accordingly  started, 
under  the  guidance  of  Beatte,  who  had  hunted  over  this  part  of 
the  country,  and  knew  the  direct  route  to  the  garrison. 

For  some  distance  we  skirted  the  prairie,  keeping  a  southeast 
direction  ;  and  in  the  course  of  our  ride  we  saw  a  variety  of  wild 
animals,  deer,  white  and  black  wolves,  baffaloes,  and  wild  horses. 
To  the  latter,  our  half-breeds  and  Tonish  gave  ineffectual  chase, 
only  serving  to  add  to  the  weariness  of  their  already  jaded 
steeds.  Indeed  it  is  rarely  that  any  but  the  weaker  and 
least  fleet  of  the  wild  horses  are  taken  in  these  hard  racings  ; 
while  the  horse  of  the  huntsman  is  prone  to  be  knocked  up. 
The  latter,  in  fact,  risks  a  good  horse  to  catch  a  bad  one.  On 
this  occasion,  Tonish,  who  was  a  perfect  imp  on  horseback,  and 
no-ted  for  ruining  every  animal  he  bestrode,  succeeded  in  laming 
and  almost  disabling  the  powerful  gray  on  which  we  had  mounted 
him  at  the  outset  of  our  tour. 

After  proceeding  a  few  miles,  we  left  the  prairie,  and  struck 


182  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


to  the  east,  taking  what  Beatte  pronounced  an  old  Osage  war- 
track.  This  led  us  through  a  rugged  tract  of  country,  over 
grown  with  scrubbed  forests  and  entangled  thickets,  and  inter 
sected  by  deep  ravines,  and  brisk-running  streams,  the  sources 
of  Little  River.  About  three  o'clock,  we  encamped  by  some 
pools  of  water  in  a  small  valley,  having  come  about  fourteen 
miles.  We  had  brought  on  a  supply  of  provisions  from  our  last 
camp,  and  supped  heartily  upon  stewed  buffalo  meat,  roasted 
venison,  beignets,  or  fritters  of  flour  fried  in  bear's  lard,  and  tea 
made  of  a  species  of  the  golden-rod,  which  we  had  found,  through 
out  our  whole  route,  almost  as  grateful  a  beverage  as  coffee. 
Indeed  our  coffee,  which,  as  long  as  it  held  out,  had  been  served 
up  with  every  meal,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  West,  was  by 
•no  means  a  beverage  to  boast  of.  It  was  roasted  in  a  frying-pan, 
without  much  care,  pounded  in  a  leathern  bag,  with  a  round 
stone,  and  boiled  in  our  prime  and  almost  only  kitchen  utensil, 
the  camp  kettle,  in  "  branch "  or  brook  water ;  which,  on  the 
prairies,  is  deeply  colored  by  the  soil,  of  which  it  always  holds 
abundant  particles  in  a  state  of  solution  and  suspension.  In 
fact,  in  the  course  of  our  tour,  we  had  tasted  the  quality  of  every 
variety  of  soil,  and  the  draughts  of  water  we  had  taken  might  vie 
in  diversity  of  color,  if  not  of  flavor,  with  the  tinctures  of  an 
apothecary's  shop.  Pure,  limpid  water  is  a  rare  luxury  on  the 
prairies,  at  least  at  this  season  of  the  year.  Supper  over,  we 
placed  sentinels  about  our  scanty  and  diminished  camp,  spread 
our  skins  and  blankets  under  the  trees,  now  nearly  destitute  of 
foliage,  and  slept  soundly  until  morning. 

We  had  a  beautiful  daybreak.  The  camp  again  resounded 
with  cheerful  voices  ;  every  one  was  animated  with  the  thoughts 
of  soon  being  at  the  fort,  and  revelling  on  bread  and  vegetables. 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  183 


Even  our  saturnine  man,  Beatte,  seemed  inspired  on  this  occa 
sion  ;  and  as  he  drove  up  the  horses  for  the  march.  I  heard  him 
singing,  in  nasal  tones,  a  most  forlorn  Indian  ditty.  All  this 
transient  gayety,  however,  soon  died  away  amidst  the  fatigues  of 
onr  march,  which  lay  through  the  same  kind  of  rough,  hilly, 
thickcted  country  as  that  of  yesterday.  In  the  course  of  the 
morning  we  arrived  at  the  valley  of  the  Little  River,  where  it 
wound  through  a  broad  bottom  of  alluvial  soil.  At  present  it 
had  overflowed  its  banks,  and  inundated  a  great  part  of  the  val 
ley.  The  difficulty  was  to  distinguish  the  stream  from  the  broad 
sheets  of  water  it  had  formed,  and  to  find  a  place  where  it  might 
be  forded  ;  for  it  was  in  general  deep  and  miry,  with  abrupt 
crumbling  banks.  Under  the  pilotage  of  Beatte,  therefore,  we 
wandered  for  some  time  among  the  links  made  by  this  winding 
stream,  in  what  appeared  to  us  a  trackless  labyrinth  of  swamps, 
thickets,  and  standing  pools.  Sometimes  our  jaded  horses  dragged 
their  limbs  forward  with  the  utmost  difficulty,  having  to  toil  for 
a  great  distance,  with  the  water  up  to  the  stirrups,  and  beset  at 
the  bottom  with  roots  and  creeping  plants.  Sometimes  we  had 
to  force  our  way  through  dense  thickets  of  brambles  and  grape 
vines,  which  almost  pulled  us  out  of  our  saddles.  In  one  place, 
one  of  the  pack-horses  sunk  in  the  mire  and  fell  on  his  side,  so 
as  to  be  extricated  with  great  difficulty.  Wherever  the  soil  was 
bare,  or  there  was  a  sand-bank,  we  beheld  innumerable  tracks  of 
bears,  wolves,  wild  horses,  turkeys,  and  water-fowl ;  showing  the 
abundant  sport  this  valley  might  afford  to  the  huntsman.  Our 
men,  however,  were  sated  with  hunting,  and  too  weary  to  be 
excited  by  these  signs,  which  in  the  outset  of  our  tour  would 
have  put  them  in  a  fever  of  anticipation.  Their  only  desire  at 
present,  was  to  push  on  doggedly  for  the  fortress. 


184  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


At  length  we  succeeded  in  finding  a  fording  place,  where  we 
all  crossed  Little  River,  with  the  water  and  mire  to  the  saddle- 
girths,  and  then  halted  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  to  overhaul  the 
wet  baggage,  and  give  the  horses  time  to  rest. 

On  resuming  our  march,  we  came  to  a  pleasant  little  meadow, 
surrounded  by  groves  of  elms  and  cotton-wood  trees,  in  the  midst 
of  which  was  a  fine  black  horse  grazing.  Beatte,  who  was  in  the 
advance,  beckoned  us  to  halt,  and,  being  mounted  on  a  mare,  ap 
proached  the  horse  gently,  step  by  step,  imitating  the  whinny  of 
the  animal  with  admirable  exactness.  The  noble  courser  of  the 
prairie  gazed  for  a  time,  snuffed  the  air,  neighed,  pricked  up  his 
ears,  and  pranced  round  and  round  the  mare  in  gallant  style ; 
but  kept  at  too  great  a  distance  for  Beatte  to  throw  the  lariat. 
He  was  a  magnificent  object,  in  all  the  pride  and  glory  of  his 
nature.  It  was  admirable  to  see  the  lofty  and  airy  carriage  of 
his  head  ;  the  freedom  of  every  movement ;  the  elasticity  with 
which  he  trod  the  meadow.  Finding  it  impossible  to  get  within 
noosing  distance,  and  seeing  that  the  horse  was  receding  and 
growing  alarmed,  Beatte  slid  down  from  his  saddle,  levelled  his 
rifle  across  the  back  of  his  mare,  and  took  aim,  with  the  evident 
intention  of  creasing  him.  I  felt  a  throb  of  anxiety  for  the 
safety  of  the  noble  animal,  and  called  out  to  Beatte  to  desist. 
It  was  too  late  ;  he  pulled  the  trigger  as  I  spoke  ;  luckily  he  did 
not  shoot  with  his  usual  accuracy,  and  I  had  the  satisfaction  to 
see  the  coal-black  steed  dash  off  unharmed  into  the  forest. 

On  leaving  this  valley,  we  ascended  among  broken  hills  and 
rugged,  ragged  forests,  equally  harassing  to  horse  and  rider. 
The  ravines,  too,  were  of  red  clay,  and  often  so  steep,  that  in  de 
scending,  the  horses  would  put  their  feet  together  and  fairly  slide 
down,  and  then  scramble  up  the  opposite  side  like  cats.  Here 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  185 


and  there  among  the  thickets  in  the  valleys,  we  met  with  sloes 
and  persimmon,  and  the  eagerness  with  which  our  men  broke 
from  the  line  of  march,  and  ran  to  gather  these  poor  fruits,  showed 
how  much  they  craved  some  vegetable  condiment,  after  living  so 
long  exclusively  on  animal  food. 

About  half  past  three  we  encamped  near  a  brook  in  a  meadow, 
where  there  was  some  scanty  herbage  for  our  half-famished  hor 
ses.  As  Beatte  had  killed  a  fat  doe  in  the  course  of  the  day, 
and  one  of  our  company  a  fine  turkey,  we  did  not  lack  for  pro 
visions. 

It  was  a  splendid  autumnal  evening.  The  horizon,  after  sun 
set,  was  of  a  clear  apple  green,  rising  into  a  delicate  lake  which 
gradually  lost  itself  in  a  deep  purple  blue.  One  narrow  streak 
of  cloud,  of  a  mahogany  color,  edged  with  amber  and  gold,  floated 
in  the  west,  and  just  beneath  it  was  the  evening  star,  shining  with 
the  pure  brilliancy  of  a  diamond.  In  unison  with  this  scene, 
there  was  an  evening  concert  of  insects  of  various  kinds,  all 
blended  and  harmonized  into  one  sober  and  somewhat  melancholy 
note,  which  I  have  always  found  to  have  a  soothing  effect  upon 
the  mind,  disposing  it  to  quiet  musings. 

The  night  that  succeeded  was  calm  and  beautiful.  There  was 
a  faint  light  from  the  moon,  now  in  its  second  quarter,  and  after 
it  had  set,  a  fine  starlight,  with  shooting  meteors.  The  wearied 
rangers,  after  a  little  murmuring  conversation  round  their  fires, 
sank  to  rest  at  an  early  hour,  and  I  seemed  to  have  the  whole 
scene  to  myself.  It  is  delightful  in  thus  bivouacking  on  the 
prairies,  to  lie  awake  and  gaze  at  the  stars  ;  it  is  like  watching 
them  from  the  deck  of  a  ship  at  sea,  when  at  one  view  we  have 
the  whole  cope  of  heaven.  One  realizes,  in  such  lonely  scenes, 
that  companionship  with  these  beautiful  luminaries  which  made 


186  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


astronomers  of  the  eastern  shepherds,  as  they  watched  their  flocks 
by  night.  How  often,  while  contemplating  their  mild  and  benig 
nant  radiance,  I  have  called  to  mind  the  exquisite  text  of  Job : 
"  Canst  thou  bind  the  secret  influences  of  the  Pleiades,  or  loose 
the  bands  of  Orion  ?"  I  do  not  know  why  it  was,  but  I  felt  this 
night  unusually  affected  by  the  solemn  magnificence  of  the  firma 
ment  5  and  seemed,  as  I  lay  thus  under  the  open  vault  of  heaven, 
to  inhale  with  the  pure  untainted  air,  an  exhilarating  buoyancy 
of  spirit,  and,  as  it  were,  an  ecstasy  of  mind.  I  slept  and  waked 
alternately  ;  and  when  I  slept,  my  dreams  partook  of  the  happy 
tone  of  my  waking  reveries.  Towards  morning,  one  of  the  sen 
tinels,  the  oldest  man  in  the  troop,  came  and  took  a  seat  near 
me  :  he  was  weary  and  sleepy,  and  impatient  to  be  relieved.  I 
found  he  had  been  gazing  at  the  heavens  also,  but  with  different 
feelings. 

"  If  the  stars  don't  deceive  me,"  said  he,  "  it  is  near  day 
break." 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that,"  said  Beatte,  who  lay  close 
by.  "  I  heard  an  owl  just  now." 

"  Does  the  owl,  then,  hoot  towards  daybreak  ?"  asked  I. 

"  Aye,  sir,  just  as  the  cock  crows." 

This  was  a  useful  habitude  of  the  bird  of  wisdom,  of  which 
I  was  not  aware.  Neither  the  stars  nor  owl  deceived  their  vo 
taries.  In  a  short  time  there  was  a  faint  streak  of  light  in 
the  east. 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  187 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

OLD    CREEK    ENCAMPMENT. SCARCITY    OF    PROVISIONS. BAD    WEA 
THER. WEARY    MARCHING. A    HUNTER'S  BRIDGE. 

THE  country  through  which  we  passed  this  morning  (Nov.  2),  was 
less  rugged,  and  of  more  agreeable  aspect  than  that  we  had  lately 
traversed.  At  eleven  o'clock,  we  came  out  upon  an  extensive 
prairie,  and  about  six  miles  to  our  left  beheld  a  long  line  of  green 
forest,  marking  the  course  of  the  north  fork  of  the  Arkansas. 
On  the  edge  of  the  prairie,  and  in  a  spacious  grove  of  noble  trees 
which  overshadowed  a  small  brook,  were  the  traces  of  an  old 
Creek  hunting  camp.  On  the  bark  of  the  trees  were  rude  de 
lineations  of  hunters  and  squaws,  scrawled  with  charcoal ;  to 
gether  with  various  signs  and  hieroglyphics,  which  our  half-breeds 
interpreted  as  indicating  that  from  this  encampment  the  hunters 
had  returned  home. 

In  this  beautiful  camping  ground  we  made  our  mid-day  halt. 
While  reposing  under  the  trees,  we  heard  a  shouting  at  no  great 
distance,  and  presently  the  Captain  and  the  main  body  of  rangers, 
whom  we  had  left  behind  two  days  since,  emerged  from  the 
thickets,  and  crossing  the  brook,  were  joyfully  welcomed  into  the 
camp.  The  Captain  and  the  Doctor  had  been  unsuccessful  in  the 
search  after  their  horses,  and  were  obliged  to  march  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  time  on  foot  5  yet  they  had  come  on  with 
more  than  ordinary  speed. 

We  resumed  our  march  about  one  o'clock,  keeping  easterly, 
and  approaching  the  north  fork  obliquely  ;  it  was  late  before  we 
found  a  good  camping  place  ;  the  beds  of  the  streams  were  dry, 


188  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


the  prairies,  too,  had  been  burnt  in  various  places,  by  Indian 
hunting  parties.  At  length  we  found  water  in  a  small  alluvial 
bottom,  where  there  was  tolerable  pasturage. 

On  the  following  morning,  there  were  flashes  of  lightning  in 
the  east,  with  low,  rumbling  thunder,  and  clouds  began  to  gather 
about  the  horizon.  Beatte  prognosticated  rain,  and  that  the 
wind  would  veer  to  the  north.  In  the  course  of  our  march, 
a  flock  of  brant  were  seen  overhead,  flying  from  the  north. 
"  There  conies  the  wind  !"  said  Beatte  ;  and,  in  fact,  it  began  to 
blow  from  that  quarter  almost  immediately,  with  occasional 
flurries  of  rain.  About  half  past  nine  o'clock,  we  forded  the 
north  fork  of  the  Canadian,  and  encamped  about  one,  that  our 
hunters  might  have  time  to  beat  up  the  neighborhood  for  game ; 
for  a  serious  scarcity  began  to  prevail  in  the  camp.  Most  of  the 
rangers  were  young,  heedless,  and  inexperienced,  and  could  not 
be  prevailed  upon,  while  provisions  abounded,  to  provide  for  the 
future,  by  jerking  meat,  or  carrying  away  any  on  their  horses. 
On  leaving  an  encampment,  they  would  leave  quantities  of  meat 
lying  about,  trusting  to  Providence  and  their  rifles  for  a  future 
supply.  The  consequence  was,  that  any  temporary  scarcity  of 
game,  or  ill  luck  in  hunting,  produced  almost  a  famine  in  the 
camp.  In  the  present  instance,  they  had  left  loads  of  buffalo 
meat  at  the  camp  on  the  great  prairie  ;  and,  having  ever  since 
been  on  a  forced  march,  leaving  no  time  for  hunting,  they  were 
now  destitute  of  supplies,  and  pinched  with  hunger.  Some  had 
not  eaten  any  thing  since  the  morning  of  the  preceding  day. 
Nothing  would  have  persuaded  them  when  revelling  in  the  abun 
dance  of  the  buffalo  encampment,  that  they  would  so  soon  be  in 
such  famishing  plight. 

The  hunters  returned  with  indifferent  success.      The  game 


A  TOUR   ON   THE   PRAIRIES.  189 


had  been  frightened  away  from  this  part  of  the  country,  by 
Indian  hunting  parties,  which  had  preceded  us.  Ten  or  a  dozen 
wild  turkeys  were  brought  in,  but  not  a  deer  had  been  seen. 
The  rangers  began  to  think  turkeys  and  even  prairie  hens  de 
serving  of  attention  ;  game  which  they  had  hitherto  considered 
unworthy  of  their  rifles. 

The  night  was  cold  and  windy,  with  occasional  sprinklings  of 
rain  ;  but  we  had  roaring  fires  to  keep  us  comfortable.  In  the 
night,  a  flight  of  wild  geese  passed  over  the  camp,  making  a  great 
cackling  in  the  air  ;  symptoms  of  approaching  winter. 

We  set  forward  at  an  early  hour  the  next  morning,  in  a  north 
east  course,  and  came  upon  the  trace  of  a  party  of  Creek  Indians, 
which  enabled  our  poor  horses  to  travel  with  more  ease.  We 
entered  upon  a  fine  champaign  country.  From  a  rising  ground 
we  had  a  noble  prospect,  over  extensive  prairies,  finely  diversified 
by  groves  and  tracts  of  woodland,  and  bounded  by  long  lines  of 
distant  hills,  all  clothed  with  the  rich  mellow  tints  of  autumn. 
Game,  too,  was  more  plenty.  A  fine  buck  sprang  up  from  among 
the  herbage  on  our  right,  and  dashed  on7  at  full  speed  ;  but,  a 
young  ranger  by  the  name  of  Childers,  who  was  on  foot,  levelled 
his  rifle,  discharged  a  ball  that  broke  the  neck  of  the  bounding 
deer,  and  sejnt  him  tumbling  head  over  heels  forward.  Another 
buck  and  a  doe,  beside  several  turkeys  were  killed  before  we  came 
to  a  halt,  so  that  the  hungry  mouths  of  the  troop  were  once  more 
supplied. 

About  three  o'clock  we  encamped  in  a  grove  after  a  forced 
march  of  twenty-five  miles,  that  had  proved  a  hard  trial  to  the 
horses.  For  a  long  time  after  the  head  of  the  line  had  encamped, 
the  rest  kept  straggling  in,  two  and  three  at  a  time  ;  one  of  our 
pack-horses  had  given  out,  about  nine  miles  back,  and  a  pony 


190  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


belonging  to  Beatte,  shortly  after.  Many  of  the  other  horses 
looked  so  gaunt  and  feeble,  that  doubts  were  entertained  of  their 
being  able  to  reach  the  fort.  In  the  night,  there  was  heavy 
rain,  and  the  morning  dawned  cloudy  and  dismal.  The  camp 
resounded,  however,  with  something  of  its  former  gayety.  The 
rangers  had  supped  well,  and  were  renovated  in  spirits,  anticipa 
ting  a  speedy  arrival  at  the  garrison.  Before  we  set  forward  on 
our  march,  Beatte  returned,  and  brought  his  pony  to  the  camp 
with  great  difficulty.  The  pack-horse,  however,  was  completely 
knocked  up  and  had  to  be  abandoned.  The  wild  mare,  too,  had 
cast  her  foal,  through  exhaustion,  and  was  not  in  a  state  to  go 
forward.  She  and  the  pony,  therefore,  were  left  at  this  encamp 
ment,  where  there  was  water  and  good  pasturage  ;  and  where 
there  would  be  a  chance  of  their  reviving,  and  being  afterwards 
sought  out  and  brought  to  the  garrison. 

We  set  off  about  eight  o'clock,  and  had  a  day  of  weary  and 
harassing  travel ;  part  of  the  time  over  rough  hills,  and  part 
over  rolling  prairies.  The  rain  had  rendered  the  soil  slippery 
and  plashy,  so  as  to  afford  unsteady  foothold.  Some  of  the 
rangers  dismounted,  their  horses  having  no  longer  strength  to 
bear  them.  We  made  a  halt  in  the  course  of  the  morning,  but 
the  horses  were  too  tired  to  graze.  Several  of  them  laid  down, 
and  there  was  some  difficulty  in  getting  them  on  their  feet  again. 
Our  troop  presented  a  forlorn  appearance,  straggling  slowly 
along,  in  a  broken  and  scattered  line,  that  extended  over  hill  and 
dale,  for  three  miles  and  upwards,  in  groups  of  three  and  four 
widely  apart ;  some  on  horseback,  some  on  foot,  with  a  few  lag 
gards  far  in  the  rear.  About  four  o'clock,  we  halted  for  the 
night  in  a  spacious  forest,  beside  a  deep  narrow  river,  called  the 
Little  North  Fork,  or  Deep  Creek.  It  was  late  before  the  main 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  191 


part  of  the  troop  straggled  into  the  encampment,  many  of  the 
horses  having  given  out.  As  this  stream  was  too  deep  to  be 
forded,  we  waited  until  the  next  day  to  devise  means  to  cross  it ; 
but  our  half-breeds  swam  the  horses  of  our  party  to  the  other 
side  in  the  evening,  as  they  would  have  better  pasturage,  and  the 
stream  was  evidently  swelling.  The  night  was  cold  and  unruly ; 
the  wind  sounding  hoarsely  through  the  forest  and  whirling  about 
the  dry  leaves.  We  made  long  fires  of  great  trunks  of  trees, 
which  diffused  something  of  consolation  if  not  cheerfulness  around. 

The  next  morning  there  was  general  permission  given  to  hunt 
until  twelve  o'clock ;  the  camp  being  destitute  of  provisions.  The 
rich  woody  bottom  in  which  we  were  encamped,  abounded  with 
wild  turkeys,  of  which  a  considerable  number  were  killed.  In 
the  meantime,  preparations  were  made  for  crossing  the  river, 
which  had  risen  several  feet  during  the  night ;  and  it  was  de 
termined  to  fell  trees  for  the  purpose,  to  serve  as  bridges. 

The  Captain  and  Doctor,  and  one  or  two  other  leaders  of  the 
camp,  versed  in  woodcraft,  examined  with  learned  eye  the  trees 
growing  on  the  river  bank,  until  they  singled  out  a  couple  of  the 
largest  size,  and  most  suitable  inclinations.  The  axe  was  then 
vigorously  applied  to  their  roots,  in  such  a  way  as  to  insure  their 
falling  directly  across  the  stream.  As  they  did  not  reach  to  the 
opposite  bank,  it  was  necessary  for  some  of  the  men  to  swim 
across  and  fell  trees  on  the  other  side,  to  meet  them.  They  at 
length  succeeded  in  making  a  precarious  footway  across  the  deep 
and  rapid  current,  by  which  the  baggage  could  be  carried  over : 
but  it  was  necessary  to  grope  our  way,  step  by  step,  along  the 
trunks  and  main  branches  of  the  trees,  which  for  a  part  of  the 
distance  were  completely  submerged,  so  that  we  were  to  our  waists 
in  water.  Most  of  the  horses  were  then  swam  across,  but  some 


192  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


of  them  were  too  weak  to  brave  the  current,  and  evidently  too 
much  knocked  up  to  bear  any  further  travel.  Twelve  men,  there 
fore,  were  left  at  the  encampment  to  guard  these  horses,  until  by 
repose  and  good  pasturage  they  should  be  sufficiently  recovered 
to  complete  their  journey  ;  and  the  Captain  engaged  to  send  the 
men  a  supply  of  flour  and  other  necessaries,  as  soon  as  we  should 
arrive  at  the  Fort. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

A  LOOK-OUT  FOR  LAND. HARD  TRAVELLING  AND  HUNGRY  HALTING. 

A  FRONTIER  FARMHOUSE. ARRIVAL  AT  THE  GARRISON. 

IT  was  a  little  after  one  o'clock  when  we  again  resumed  our  weary 
wayfaring.  The  residue  of  that  day  and  the  whole  of  the  next 
were  spent  in  toilsome  travel.  Part  of  the  way  was  over  stony 
hills,  part  across  wide  prairies,  rendered  spongy  and  miry  by  the 
recent  rain,  and  cut  up  by  brooks  swollen  into  torrents.  Our 
poor  horses  were  so  feeble,  that  it  was  with  difficulty  we  could 
get  them  across  the  deep  ravines  and  turbulent  streams.  In  tra 
versing  the  miry  plains,  they  slipped  and  staggered  at  every  step, 
and  most  of  us  were  obliged  to  dismount  and  walk  for  the  greater 
part  of  the  way.  Hunger  prevailed  throughout  the  troop  ;  every 
one  began  to  look  anxious  and  haggard,  and  to  feel  the  growing 
length  of  each  additional  mile.  At  one  time,  in  crossing  a  hill, 
Beatte  climbed  a  high  tree,  commanding  a  wide  prospect,  and 
took  a  look-out,  like  a  mariner  from  the  mast-head  at  sea.  He 
came  down  with  cheering  tidings.  To  the  left  he  had  beheld  a 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  193 


line  of  forest  stretching  across  the  country,  which  he  knew  to  Tbe 
the  woody  border  of  the  Arkansas  ;  and  at  a  distance  he  had  re 
cognized  certain  landmarks,  from  which  he  concluded  that  we 
could  not  be  above  forty  miles  distant  from  the  fort.  It  was  like 
the  welcome  cry  of  land  to  tempest-tossed  mariners. 

In  fact  we  soon  after  saw  smoke  rising  from  a  woody  glen  at 
a  distance.  It  was  supposed  to  be  made  by  a  hunting-party  of 
Creek  or  Osage  Indians  from  the  neighborhood  of  the  fort,  and 
was  joyfully  hailed  as  a  harbinger  of  man.  It  was  now  confi 
dently  hoped  that  we  would  soon  arrive  among  the  frontier  ham 
lets  of  Creek  Indians,  which  are  scattered  along  the  skirts  of  the 
uninhabited  wilderness ;  and  our  hungry  rangers  trudged  forward 
with  reviving  spirit,  regaling  themselves  with  savory  anticipa 
tions  of  farmhouse  luxuries,  and  enumerating  every  article  of 
good  cheer,  until  their  mouths  fairly  watered  at  the  shadowy 
feasts  thus  conjured  up. 

A  hungry  night,  however,  closed  in  upon  a  toilsome  day.  We 
encamped  on  the  border  of  one  of  the  tributary  streams  of  the 
Arkansas,  amidst  the  ruins  of  a  stately  grove  that  had  been 
riven  by  a  hurricane.  The  blast  had  torn  its  way  through  the 
forest  in  a  narrow  column,  and  its  course  was  marked  by  enor 
mous  trees  shivered  and  splintered,  and  upturned,  with  their  roots 
in  the  air :  all  lay  in  one  direction,  like  so  many  brittle  reeds 
broken  and  trodden  down  by  the  hunter. 

Here  was  fuel  in  abundance,  without  the  labor  of  the  axe : 
we  had  soon  immense  fires  blazing  and  sparkling  in  the  frosty 
air,  and  lighting  up  the  whole  forest ;  but,  alas  !  we  had  no 
meat  to  cook  at  them.  The  scarcity  in  the  camp  almost 
amounted  to  famine.  Happy  was  he  who  had  a  morsel  of 
jerked  meat,  or  even  the  half-picked  bones  of  a  former  repast. 

9 


194  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


For  our  part,  we  were  more  lucky  at  our  mess  than  our 
neighbors  ;  one  of  our  men  having  shot  a  turkey.  We  had  no 
bread  to  eat  with  it,  nor  salt  to  season  it  withal.  It  was  simply 
boiled  in  water  ;  the  latter  was  served  up  as  soup,  and  we  were 
fain  to  rub  each  morsel  of  the  turkey  on  the  empty  salt-bag,  in 
hopes  some  saline  particle  might  remain  to  relieve  its  insipidity. 

The  night  was  biting  cold  ;  the  brilliant  moonlight  sparkled 
on  the  frosty  crystals  which  covered  every  object  around  us. 
The  water  froze  beside  the  skins  on  which  we  bivouacked,  and  in 
the  morning  I  found  the  blanket  in  which  I  was  wrapped  cov 
ered  with  a  hoar  frost ;  yet  I  had  never  slept  more  comfortably. 

After  a  shadow  of  a  breakfast,  consisting  of  turkey  bones  and 
a  cup  of  coffee  without  sugar,  we  decamped  at  an  early  hour  ;  for 
hunger  is  a  sharp  quickener  on  a  journey.  The  prairies  were  all 
gemmed  with  frost,  that  covered  the  tall  weeds  and  glistened  in 
the  sun.  We  saw  great  nights  of  prairie  hens,  or  grouse,  that 
hovered  from  tree  to  tree,  or  sat  in  rows  along  the  naked  branches, 
waiting  until  the  sun  should  melt  the  frost  from  the  weeds  and 
herbage.  Our  rangers  no  longer  despised  such  humble  game, 
but  turned  from  the  ranks  in  pursuit  of  a  prairie  hen  as  eagerly 
as  they  formerly  would  go  in  pursuit  of  a  deer. 

Every  one  now  pushed  forward,  anxious  to  arrive  at  some 
human  habitation  before  night.  The  poor  horses  were  urged 
beyond  their  strength,  in  the  thought  of  soon  being  able  to 
indemnify  them  for  present  toil,  by  rest  and  ample  provender. 
Still  the  distances  seemed  to  stretch  out  more  than  ever,  and  the 
blue  hills,  pointed  out  as  landmarks  on  the  horizon,  to  recede  as 
we  advanced.  Every  step  became  a  labor ;  every  now  and  then 
a  miserable  horse  would  give  out  and  lie  down.  His  owner 
would  raise  him  by  main  strength,  force  him  forward  to  the  mar- 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  195 


gin  of  some  stream,  where  there  might  be  a  scanty  border  of 
herbage,  and -then  abandon  him  to  his  fate.  Among  those  that 
were  thus  left  on  the  way,  was  one  of  the  led  horses  of  the 
Count ;  a  prime  hunter,  that  had  taken  the  lead  of  every  thing 
in  the  chase  of  the  wild  horses.  It  was  intended,  however,  as 
soon  as  we  should  arrive  at  the  fort,  to  send  out  a  party  provided 
with  corn,  to  bring  in  such  of  the  horses  as  should  survive. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning,  we  came  upon  Indian  tracks, 
crossing  each  other  in  various  directions,  a  proof  that  we  must 
be  in  the  neighborhood  of  human  habitations.  At  length,  on 
passing  through  a  skirt  of  wood,  we  beheld  two  or  three  log 
houses,  sheltered  under  lofty  trees  on  the  border  of  a  prairie,  the 
habitations  of  Creek  Indians,  who  had  small  farms  adjacent. 
Had  they  been  sumptuous  villas,  abounding  with  the  luxuries  of 
civilization,  they  could  not  have  been  hailed  with  greater  delight. 

Some  of  the  rangers  rode  up  to  them  in  quest  of  food :  the 
greater  part,  however,  pushed  forward  in  search  of  the  habitation 
of  a  white  settler,  which  we  were  told  was  at  no  great  distance. 
The  troop  soon  disappeared  among  the  trees,  and  I  followed 
slowly  in  their  track  ;  for  my  once  fleet  and  generous  steed 
faltered  under  me,  and  was  just  able  to  drag  one  foot  after  the 
other,  yet  I  was  too  weary  and  exhausted  to  spare  him. 

In  this  way  we  crept  on,  until,  on  turning  a  thick  clump  of 
trees,  a  frontier  farmhouse  suddenly  presented  itself  to  view.  It 
was  a  low  tenement  of  logs,  overshadowed  by  great  forest  trees, 
but  it  seemed  as  if  a  very  region  of  Cocaigne  prevailed  around  it. 
Here  was  a  stable  and  barn,  and  granaries  teeming  with  abun 
dance,  while  legions  of  grunting  swine,  gobbling  turkeys,  cackling 
hens  and  strutting  roosters,  swarmed  about  the  farmyard. 

My  poor  jaded  and  half-famished  horse  raised  his  head  and 


196  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


pricked  up  his  ears  at  the  well-known  sights  and  sounds.  He 
gave  a  chuckling  inward  sound,  something  like  a  dry  laugh  ; 
whisked  his  tail,  and  made  great  leeway  toward  a  corn-crib,  filled 
with  golden  ears  of  maize,  and  it  was  with  some  difficulty  that  I 
could  control  his  course,  and  steer  him  up  to  the  door  of  the 
cabin.  A  single  glance  within  was  sufficient  to  raise  every  gas 
tronomic  faculty.  There  sat  the  Captain  of  the  rangers  and  his 
officers,  round  a  three-legged  table,  crowned  by  a  broad  and 
smoking  dish  of  boiled  beef  and  turnips.  I  sprang  oft7  my  horse 
in  an  instant,  cast  him  loose  to  make  his  way  to  the  corn-crib, 
and  entered  this  palace  of  plenty.  A  fat  good-humored  negress 
received  me  at  the  door.  She  was  the  mistress  of  the  house,  the 
spouse  of  the  white  man,  who  was  absent.  I  hailed  her  as  some 
swart  fairy  of  the  wild,  that  had  suddenly  conjured  up  a  banquet 
in  the  desert ;  and  a  banquet  was  it  in  good  sooth.  In  a 
twinkling,  she  lugged  from  the  fire  a  huge  iron  pot,  that  might 
have  rivalled  one  of  the  famous  flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  or  the 
witches'  caldron  in  Macbeth.  Placing  a  brown  earthen  dish  on 
the  floor,  she  inclined  the  corpulent  caldron  on  one  side,  and  out 
leaped  sundry  great  morsels  of  beef,  with  a  regiment  of  turnips 
tumbling  after  them,  and  a  rich  cascade  of  broth  overflowing  the 
whole.  This  she  handed  me  with  an  ivory  smile  that  extended 
from  ear  to  ear  ;  apologizing  for  our  humble  fare,  and  the  humble 
style  in  which  it  was  served  up.  Humble  fare  !  humble  style  ! 
Boiled  beef  and  turnips,  and  an  earthen  dish  to  eat  them  from  ! 
To  think  of  apologizing  for  such  a  treat  to  a  half-starved  man 
from  the  prairies  ;  and  then  such  magnificent  slices  of  bread  and 
butter  !  Head  of  Apicius,  what  a  banquet ! 

"  The  rage  of  hunger  "  being  appeased,  I  began  to  think  of 
my  horse.     He,  however,  like  an  old  campaigner,  had  taken  good 


A  TOUR  ON  THE  PRAIRIES.  197 


care  of  himself.  I  found  him  paying  assiduous  attention  to  the 
crib  of  Indian  corn,  and  dexterously  drawing  forth  and  munch 
ing  the  ears  that  protruded  between  the  bars.  It  was  with  great 
regret  that  I  interrupted  his  repast,  which  he  abandoned  with  a 
heavy  sigh,  or  rather  a  rumbling  groan.  I  was  anxious,  however, 
to  rejoin  niy  travelling  companions,  who  had  passed  by  the 
farmhouse  without  stopping,  and  proceeded  to  the  banks  of  the 
Arkansas ;  being  in  hopes  of  arriving  before  night  at  the  Osage 
Agency.  Leaving  the  Captain  and  his  troop,  therefore,  amidst 
the  abundance  of  the  farm,  where  they  had  determined  to  quarter 
themselves  for  the  night,  I  bade  adieu  to  our  sable  hostess,  and 
again  pushed  forward. 

A  ride  of  about  a  mile  brought  me  to  where  my  comrades 
were  waiting  on  the  banks  of  the  Arkansas,  which  here  poured 
along  between  beautiful  forests.  A  number  of  Creek  Indians,  in 
their  brightly  colored  dresses,  looking  like  so  many  gay  tropical 
birds,  were  busy  aiding  our  men  to  transport  the  baggage  across 
the  river  in  a  canoe.  While  this  was  doing,  our  horses  had 
another  regale  from  two  great  cribs  heaped  up  with  ears  of  Indian 
corn,  which  stood  near  the  edge  of  the  river.  We  had  to  keep  a 
check  upon  the  poor  half  famished  animals,  lest  they  should 
injure  themselves  by  their  voracity. 

The  baggage  being  all  carried  to  the  opposite  bank,  we  em 
barked  in  the  canoe,  and  swam  our  horses  across  the  river.  I 
was  fearful,  lest  in  their  enfeebled  state,  they  should  not  be  able 
to  stem  the  current;  but  their  banquet  of  Indian  corn  had 
already  infused  fresh  life  and  spirit  into  them,  and  it  would  ap 
pear  as  if  they  were  cheered  by  the  instinctive  consciousness  of 
their  approach  to  home,  where  they  would  soon  be  at  rest,  and  in 
plentiful  quarters  ;  for  no  sooner  had  we  landed  and  resumed  our 


198  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


route,  than  they  set  off  on  a  hand-gallop,  and  continued  so  for  a 
great  part  of  seven  miles,  that  we  had  to  ride  through  the  woods. 

It  was  an  early  hour  in  the  evening  when  we  arrived  at  the 
Agency,  on  the  banks  of  the  Verdigris  River,  whence  we  had  set 
off  about  a  month  before.  Here  we  passed  the  night  comfortably 
quartered  ;  yet,  after  having  been  accustomed  to  sleep  in  the  open 
air,  the  confinement  of  a  chamber  was,  in  some  respects,  irksome. 
The  atmosphere  seemed  close,  and  destitute  of  freshness  ;  and 
when  I  woke  in  the  night  and  gazed  about  me  upon  complete 
darkness,  I  missed  the  glorious  companionship  of  the  stars. 

The  next  morning  after  breakfast,  I  again  set  forward  in  com 
pany  with  the  worthy  Commissioner,  for  Fort  Gibson,  where  we 
arrived  much  t'attered,  travel-stained  and  weather-beaten,  but  in 
high  health  and  spirits ; — and  thus  ended  my  foray  into  the 
Pawnee  Hunting  Grounds. 


ABBOTSFORD. 


ABBOTSFORD. 


I  SIT  down  to  perform  my  promise  of  giving  you  an  account  of  a 
visit  made  many  years  since  to  Abbotsford.  I  hope,  however, 
that  you  do  not  expect  much  from  me,  for  the  travelling  notes 
taken  at  the  time  are  so  scanty  and  vague,  and  my  memory  so 
extremely  fallacious,  that  I  fear  I  shall  disappoint  you  with  the 
meagreness  and  crudeness  of  my  details. 

Late  in  the  evening  of  the  29th  of  August,  1817,  I  arrived 
at  the  ancient  little  border  town  of  Selkirk,  where  I  put  up  for 
the  night.  I  had  come  down  from  Edinburgh,  partly  to  visit 
Melrose  Abbey  and  its  vicinity,  but  chiefly  to  get  a  sight  of  the 
"  mighty  minstrel  of  the  north."  I  had  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  him  from  Thomas  Campbell  the  poet,  and  had  reason  to  think, 
from  the  interest  he  had  taken  in  some  of  my  earlier  scribblings, 
that  a  visit  from  me  would  not  be  deemed  an  intrusion. 

On  the  following  morning,  after  an  early  breakfast,  I  set  off 
in  a  postchaise  for  the  Abbey.  On  the  way  thither  I  stopped  at 
the  gate  of  Abbotsford,  and  sent  the  postillion  to  the  house  with 
the  letter  of  introduction  and  my  card,  on  which  I  had  written 
that  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  ruins  of  Melrose  Abbey,  and  wished 
to  know  whether  it  would  be  agreeable  to  Mr.  Scott  (he  had  not 

9* 


202  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


yet  been  made  a  Baronet)  to  receive  a  visit  from  me  in  the  course 
of  the  morning. 

While  the  postillion  was  on  his  errand,  I  had  time  to  survey 
the  mansion.  It  stood  some  short  distance  below  the  road,  on 
the  side  of  a  hill  sweeping  down  to  the  Tweed  ;  and  was  as  yet 
but  a  snug  gentleman's  cottage,  with  something  rural  and  pictu 
resque  in  its  appearance.  The  whole  front  was  overrun  with 
evergreens,  and  immediately  above  the  portal  was  a  great  pair  of 
elk  horns,  branching  out  from  beneath  the  foliage,  and  giving  the 
cottage  the  look  of  a  hunting  lodge.  The  huge  baronial  pile,  to 
which  this  modest  mansion  in  a  manner  gave  birth,  was  just 
emerging  into  existence :  part  of  the  walls,  surrounded  by  scaf 
folding,  already  had  risen  to  the  height  of  the  cottage,  and  the 
court-yard  in  front  was  encumbered  by  masses  of  hewn  stone. 

The  noise  of  the  chaise  had  disturbed  the  quiet  of  the  estab 
lishment.  Out  sallied  the  warder  of  the  castle,  a  black  grey 
hound,  and,  leaping  on  one  of  the  blocks  of  stone,  began  a  furious 
barking.  His  alarum  brought  out  the  whole  garrison  of  dogs : 

"  Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound, 
And  curs  of  low  degree  ;" 

all  open-mouthed  and  vociferous. 1  should  correct  my  quota 
tion  ; — not  a  cur  was  to  be  seen  on  the  premises  :  Scott  was  too 
true  a  sportsman,  and  had  too  high  a  veneration  for  pure  blood, 
to  tolerate  a  mongrel. 

In  a  little  while  the  "  lord  of  the  castle "  himself  made  his 
appearance.  I  knew  him  at  once  by  the  descriptions  I  had  read 
and  heard,  and  the  likenesses  that  had  been  published  of  him. 
He  was  tall,  and  of  a  large  and  powerful  frame.  His  dress  was 
simple,  and  almost  rustic.  An  old  green  shooting-coat,  with  a 


ABBOTSFORD.  203 


dog-whistle  at  the  button  hole,  brown  linen  pantaloons,  stout 
shoes  that  tied  at  the  ankles,  and  a  white  hat  that  had  evidently 
seen  service.  He  came  limping  up  the  gravel  walk,  aiding  him 
self  by  a  stout  walking-staff,  but  moving  rapidly  and  with  vigor. 
By  his  side  jogged  along  a  large  iron-gray  stag  hound  of  most 
grave  demeanor,  who  took  no  part  in  the  clamor  of  the  canine 
rabble,  but  seemed  to  consider  himself  bound,  for  the  dignity  of 
the  house,  to  give  me  a  courteous  reception. 

Before  Scott  had  reached  the  gate  he  called  out  in  a  hearty 
tone,  welcoming  me  to  Abbotsford,  and  asking  news  of  Campbell. 
Arrived  at  the  door  of  the  chaise,  he  grasped  me  warmly  by  the 
hand :  "  Come,  drive  down,  drive  down  to  the  house,"  said  he, 
"  ye're  just  in  time  for  breakfast,  and  afterwards  ye  shall  see  all 
the  wonders  of  the  Abbey." 

I  would  have  excused  myself,  on  the  plea  of  having  already 
made  my  breakfast.  "  Hout,  man,"  cried  he,  "  a  ride  in  the  morn 
ing  in  the  keen  air  of  the  Scotch  hills  is  warrant  enough  for  a 
second  breakfast." 

I  was  accordingly  whirled  to  the  portal  of  the  cottage,  and  in 
a  few  moments  fonnd  myself  seated  at  the  breakfast  table. 
There  was  no  one  present  but  the  family,  which  consisted  of 
Mrs.  Scott,  her  eldest  daughter  Sophia,  then  a  fine  girl  about 
seventeen,  Miss  Ann  Scott,  two  or  three  years  younger,  Walter, 
a  well-grown  stripling,  and  Charles,  a  lively  boy,  eleven  or  twelve 
years  of  age.  I  soon  felt  myself  quite  at  home,  and  my  heart  in 
a  glow  with  the  cordial  welcome  I  experienced.  I  had  thought 
to  make  a  mere  morning  visit,  but  found  I  was  not  to  be  let  off 
so  lightly.  "  You  must  not  think  our  neighborhood  is  to  be  read 
in  a  morning,  like  a  newspaper,"  said  Scott.  "  It  takes  several 
days  of  study  for  an  observant  traveller  that  has  a  relish  for  auld 


204  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


world  trumpery.  After  breakfast  you  shall  make  your  visit  to 
Melrose  Abbey  ;  I  shall  not  be  able  to  accompany  you,  as  I  have 
some  household  affairs  to  attend  to,  but  I  will  put  you  in  charge 
of  my  son  Charles,  who  is  very  learned  in  all  things  touching  the 
old  ruin  and  the  neighborhood  it  stands  in,  and  he  and  my  friend 
Johnny  Bower  will  tell  you  the  whole  truth  about  it,  with  a  good 
deal  more  that  you  are  not  called  upon  to  believe — unless  you  be 
a  true  and  nothing-doubting  antiquary.  When  you  come  back, 
I'll  take  you  out  on  a  ramble  about  the  neighborhood.  To-mor 
row  we  will  take  a  look  at  the  Yarrow,  and  the  next  day  we  will 
drive  over  to  Dryburgh  Abbey,  which  is  a  fine  old  ruin  well  worth 
your  seeing" — in  a  word,  before  Scott  had  got  through  with  his 
plan,  I  found  myself  committed  for  a  visit  of  several  days,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  a  little  realm  of  romance  was  suddenly  opened 
before  me. 


After  breakfast  I  accordingly  set  off  for  the  Abbey  with  my 
little  friend  Charles,  whom  I  found  a  most  sprightly  and  enter 
taining  companion.  He  had  an  ample  stock  of  anecdote  about 
the  neighborhood,  which  he  had  learned  from  his  father,  and 
many  quaint  remarks  and  sly  jokes,  evidently  derived  from  the 
same  source,  all  which  were  uttered  with  a  Scottish  accent  and 
a  mixture  of  Scottish  phraseology,  that  gave  them  additional 
flavor. 

On  our  way  to  the  Abbey  he  gave  me  some  anecdotes  of 
Johnny  Bower  to  whom  his  father  had  alluded  ;  he  was  sexton 
of  the  parish  and  custodian  of  the  ruin,  employed  to  keep  it  in 
order  and  show  it  to  strangers  ; — a  worthy  little  man.  not  without 


ABBOTSFORD.  205 


ambition  in  his  humble  sphere.  The  death  of  his  predecessor 
had  been  mentioned  in  the  newspapers,  so  that  his  name  had  ap 
peared  in  print  throughout  the  land.  When  Johnny  succeeded 
to  the  guardianship  of  the  ruin,  he  stipulated  that,  on  his  death, 
his  name  should  receive  like  honorable  blazon ;  with  this  addi 
tion,  that  it  should  be  from  the  pen  of  Scott.  The  latter  gravely 
pledged  himself  to  pay  this  tribute  to  his  memory,  and  Johnny 
now  lived  in  the  proud  anticipation  of  a  poetic  immortality. 

I  found  Johnny  Bower  a  decent  looking  little  old  man,  in 
blue  coat  and  red  waistcoat.  He  received  us  with  much  greet 
ing,  and  seemed  delighted'  to  see  my  young  companion,  who  was 
full  of  merriment  and  waggery,  drawing  out  his  peculiarities  for 
my  amusement.  The  old  man  was  one  of  the  most  authentic 
and  particular  of  cicerones  ;  he  pointed  out  every  thing  in  the 
Abbey  that  had  been  described  by  Scott  in  his  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel :  and  would  repeat,  with  broad  Scottish  accent,  the  pas 
sage  which  celebrated  it. 

Thus,  in  passing  through  the  cloisters,  he  made  me  remark 
the  beautiful  carvings  of  leaves  and  flowers  wrought  in  stone 
with  the  most  exquisite  delicacy,  and,  notwithstanding  the  lapse 
of  centuries,  retaining  their  sharpness  as  if  fresh  from  the  chisel ; 
rivalling,  as  Scott  has  said,  the  real  objects  of  which  they  were 
imitations : 

"  Nor  herb  nor  flowret  glistened  there 
But  was  carved  in  the  cloister  arches  as  fair." 

He  pointed  out  also  among  the  carved  work  a  nun's  head  of 
much  beauty,  which  he  said  Scott  always  stopped  to  admire — 
"  for  the  shirra  had  a  wonderful  eye  for  all  sic  matters." 

I  would  observe,  that  Scott  seemed  to  derive  more  consequence 


206  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


in  the  neighborhood  from  being  sheriff  of  the  county,  than  from 
being  poet. 

In  the  interior  of  the  Abbey,  Johnny  Bower  conducted  me 
to  the  identical  stone  on  which  Stout  William  of  Deloraine  and 
the  Monk  took  their  seat  on  that  memorable  night  when  the 
wizard's  book  was  to  be  rescued  from  the  grave.  Nay,  Johnny 
had  even  gone  beyond  Scott  in  the  minuteness  of  his  antiquarian 
research,  for  he  had  discovered  the  very  tomb  of  the  wizard,  the 
position  of  which  had  been  left  in  doubt  by  the  poet.  This  he 
boasted  to  have  ascertained  by  the  position  of  the  Oriel  window, 
and  the  direction  in  which  the  moonbeams  fell  at  night,  through 
the  stained  glass,  casting  the  shadow  to  the  red  cross  on  the  spot ; 
as  had  all  been  specified  in  the  poem.  "  I  pointed  out  the  whole 
to  the  shirra,"  said  he,  "  and  he  could  na'  gainsay  but  it  was 
varra  clear."  I  found  afterwards,  that  Scott  used  to  amuse  him 
self  with  the  simplicity  of  the  old  man,  and  his  zeal  in  verifying 
every  passage  of  the  poem,  as  though  it  had  been  authentic  his 
tory,  and  that  he  always  acquiesced  in  his  deductions.  I  subjoin 
the  description  of  the  wizard's  grave,  which  called  forth  the  anti 
quarian  research  of  Johnny  Bower. 

"  Lo  warrior  !  now  the  cross  of  red, 
Points  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead  ; 
Slow  moved  the  monk  to  the  broad  flag-stone, 
Which  the  bloody  cross  was  traced  upon  : 
He  pointed  to  a  sacred  nook  : 
An  iron  bar  the  warrior  took  ; 
And  the  monk  made  a  sign  with  his  withered  hand, 
The  grave's  huge  portal  to  expand. 

It  was  by  dint  of  passing  strength, 

That  he  moved  the  massy  stone  at  length. 


ABBOTSFORD.  207 


I  would  you  had  been  there,  to  see 
How  the  light  broke  forth  so  gloriously, 
Streamed  upward  to  the  chancel  roof, 
And  through  the  galleries  far  aloof! 

And,  issuing  from  the  tomb, 
Showed  the  monk's  cowl  and  visage  pale, 
Danced  on  the  dark  brown  warrior's  mail, 

And  kissed  his  waving  plume. 

Before  their  eyes  the  wizard  lay, 

As  if  he  had  not  been  dead  a  day. 

His  hoary  beard  in  silver  rolled, 

He  seemed  some  seventy  winters  old  ; 

A  palmer's  amice  wrapped  him   round  ; 

With  a  wrought  Spanish  baldric  bound, 

Like  a  pilgrim  from  beyond  the  sea  ; 
His  left  hand  held  his  book  of  might ; 
A  silver  cross  was  in  his  right : 

The  lamp  was  placed  beside  his  knee." 

The  fictions  of  Scott  had  become  facts  with  honest  Johnny 
Bower.  From  constantly  living  among  the  ruins  of  Melrose  Ab 
bey,  and  pointing  out  the  scenes  of  the  poem,  the  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel  had,  in  a  manner,  become  interwoven  with  his  whole 
existence,  and  I  doubt  whether  he  did  not  now  and  then  mix  up 
his  own  identity  with  the  personages  of  some  of  its  cantos. 

He  could  not  bear  that  any  other  production  of  the  poet 
should  be  preferred  to  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.  "  Faith," 
said  he  to  me,  "  it's  just  e'en  as  gude  a  thing  as  Mr.  Scott  has 
written — an  if  he  were  stannin  there  I'd  tell  him  so — an'  then 
he'd  lauff." 

He  was  loud  in  his  praises  of  the  affability  of  Scott.     "  He'll 


208  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


come  here  sometimes,"  said  he,  "  with  great  folks  in  his  company, 
an  the  first  I  know  of  it  is  his  voice,  calling  out  Johnny  ! — 
Johnny  Bower  ! — and  when  I  go  out,  I  am  sure  to  be  greeted 
with  a  joke  or  a  pleasant  word.  He'll  stand  and  crack  and  lauff 
wi'  me,  just  like  an  auld  wife — and  to  think  that  of  a  man  tha.t 
has  such  an  awfu'  knowledge  o'  history !" 

One  of  the  ingenious  devices  on  which  the  worthy  little  man 
prided  himself,  was  to  place  a  visitor  opposite  to  the  Abbey,  with 
his  back  to  it,  and  bid  him  bend  down  and  look  at  it  between  his 
legs.  This,  he  said,  gave  an  entire  different  aspect  to  the  ruin. 
Folks  admired  the  plan  amazingly,  but  as  to  the  "  leddies,"  they 
were  dainty  on  the  matter,  and  contented  themselves  with  look 
ing  from  under  their  arms. 

As  Johnny  Bower  piqued  himself  upon  showing  every  thing 
laid  down  in  the  poem,  there  was  one  passage  that  perplexed  him 
sadly.  It  was  the  opening  of  one  of  the  cantos  : 

"  If  thou  would'st  view  fair  Melrose  aright, 
Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight  ; 
For  the  gay  beams  of  lightsome  day, 
Gild  but  to  flout  the  ruins  gray,"  &c. 

In  consequence  of  this  admonition,  many  of  the  most  devout 
pilgrims  to  the  ruin  could  not  be  contented  with  a  daylight  in 
spection,  and  insisted  it  could  be  nothing,  unless  seen  by  the  light 
of  the  moon.  Now,  unfortunately,  the  moon  shines  but  for  a  part 
of  the  month  ;  and  what  is  still  more  unfortunate,  is  very  apt  in 
Scotland  to  be  obscured  by  clouds  and  mists.  Johnny  was  sorely 
puzzled,  therefore,  how  to  accommodate  his  poetry-struck  visitors 
with  this  indispensable  moonshine.  At  length,  in  a  lucky  mo- 


ABBOTSFORD.  209 


ment,  he  devised  a  substitute.  This  was  a  great  double  tallow 
candle  stuck  upon  the  end  of  a  pole,  with  which  he  could  conduct 
his  visitors  about  the  ruins  on  dark  nights,  so  much  to  their  satis 
faction  that,  at  length,  he  began  to  think  it  even  preferable  to  the 
moon  itself.  "  It  does  na  light  up  a'  the  Abbey  at  aince,  to  be 
sure,"  he  would  say,  "  but  then  you  can  shift  it  about  and  show 
the  auld  ruin  bit  by  bit,  whiles  the  moon  only  shines  on  one 
side." 

Honest  Johnny  Bower  !  so  many  years  have  elapsed  since  the 
time  I  treat  of,  that  it  is  more  than  probable  his  simple  head 
lies  beneath  the  walls  of  his  favorite  Abbey.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
his  humble  ambition  has  been  gratified,  and  his  name  recorded 
by  the  pen  of  the  man  he  so  loved  and  honored. 


After  my  return  from  Melrose  Abbey,  Scott  proposed  a 
ramble  to  show  me  something  of  the  surrounding  country.  As 
we  sallied  forth,  every  dog  in  the  establishment  turned  out  to 
attend  us.  There  was  the  old  stag-hound  Maida,  that  I  have 
already  mentioned,  a  noble  animal,  and  a  great  favorite  of  Scott's, 
and  Hamlet,  the  black  greyhound,  a  wild  thoughtless  youngster, 
not  yet  arrived  to  the  years  of  discretion  ;  and  Finette,  a  beauti 
ful  setter,  with  soft  silken  hair,  long  pendent  ears,  and  a  mild  eye, 
the  parlor  favorite.  When  in  front  of  the  house,  we  were  joined 
by  a  superannuated  greyhound,  who  came  from  the  kitchen  wag 
ging  his  tail,  and  was  cheered  by  Scott  as  an  old  friend  and 
comrade. 

In  our  walks,  Scott  would  frequently  pause  in  conversation 
to  notice  his  dogs  and  speak  to  them,  as  if  rational  companions ; 


210  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


and  indeed  there  appears  to  be  a  vast  deal  of  rationality  in  these 
faithful  attendants  on  man,  derived  from  their  close  intimacy 
with  him.  Maida  deported  himself  with  a  gravity  becoming  his 
age  and  size,  and  seemed  to  consider  himself  called  upon  to 
preserve  a  great  degree  of  dignity  and  decorum  in  our  society. 
As  he  jogged  along  a  little  distance  ahead  of  us,  the  young  dogs 
would  gambol  about  him,  leap  on  his  neck,  worry  at  his  ears,  and 
endeavor  to  tease  him  into  a  frolic.  The  old  dog  would  keep  on 
for  a  long  time  with  imperturbable  solemnity,  now  and  then  seem 
ing  to  rebuke  the  wantonness  of  his  young  companions.  At 
length  he  would  make  a  sudden  turn,  seize  one  of  them,  and 
tumble  him  in  the  dust ;  then  giving  a  glance  at  us,  as  much  as 
to  say,  "  You  see,  gentlemen,  I  can't  help  giving  way  to  this  non 
sense,"  would  resume  his  gravity  and  jog  on  as  before. 

Scott  amused  himself  with  these  peculiarities.  "  I  make  no 
doubt,"  said  he,  "  when  Maida  is  alone  with  these  young  dogs,  he 
throws  gravity  aside,  and  plays  the  boy  as  much  as  any  of  them ; 
but  he  is  ashamed  to  do  so  in  our  company,  and  seems  to  say, 
'  Ha'  done  with  your  nonsense,  youngsters  ;  what  will  the  laird  and 
that  other  gentleman  think  of  me  if  I  give  way  to  such  foolery  ?'  " 

Maida  reminded  him,  he  said,  of  a  scene  on  board  an  armed 
yacht  in  which  he  made  an  excursion  with  his  friend  Adam 
Ferguson.  They  had  taken  much  notice  of  the  boatswain,  who 
was  a  fine  sturdy  seaman,  and  evidently  felt  nattered  by  their 
attention.  On  one  occasion  the  crew  were  "  piped  to  fun,"  and 
the  sailors  were  dancing  and  cutting  all  kinds  of  capers  to  the 
music  of  the  ship's  band.  The  boatswain  looked  on  with  a  wist 
ful  eye,  as  if  he  would  like  to  join  in ;  but  a  glance  at  Scott  and 
Ferguson  showed  that  there  was  a  struggle  with  his  dignity, 
fearing  to  lessen  himself  in  their  eyes.  At  length  one  of  his 


ABBOTSFORD.  211 


messmates  came  up,  and  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  challenged  him 
to  a  jig.  The  boatswin,  continued  Scott,  after  a  little  hesitation 
complied,  made  an  awkward  gambol  or  two,  like  our  friend 
Maida,  but  soon  gave  it  up.  "  It's  of  no  use,"  said  he,  jerking 
up  his  waistband  and  giving  a  side  glance  at  us,  "  one  can't  dance 
always  nouther." 

Scott  amused  himself  with  the  peculiarities  of  another  of  his 
dogs,  a  little  shamefaced  terrier,  with  large  glassy  eyes,  one  of  the 
most  sensitive  little  bodies  to  insult  and  indignity  in  the  world. 
If  ever  he  whipped  him,  he  said,  the  little  fellow  would  sneak  off 
and  hide  himself  from  the  light  of  day,  in  a  lumber  garret,  whence 
there  was  no  drawing  him  forth  but  by  the  sound  of  the  chopping- 
knife,  as  if  chopping  up  his  victuals,  when  he  would  steal  forth 
with  humbled  and  downcast  look,  but  would  skulk  away  again  if 
any  one  regarded  him. 

While  we  were  discussing  the  humors  and  peculiarities  of  our 
canine  companions,  some  object  provoked  their  spleen,  and  pro 
duced  a  sharp  and  petulant  barking  from  the  smaller  fry,  but  it 
was  some  time  before  Maida  was  sufficiently  aroused  to  ramp  for 
ward  two  or  three  bounds  and  join  in  the  chorus,  with  a  deep- 
mouthed  bow-wow  ! 

It  was  but  a  transient  outbreak,  and  he  returned  instantly, 
wagging  his  tail,  and  looking  up  dubiously  in  his  master's  face ; 
uncertain  whether  he  would  censure  or  applaud. 

"  Aye,  aye,  old  boy !"  cried  Scott,  "  you  have  done  wonders. 
You  have  shaken  the  Eildon  hills  with  your  roaring ;  you  may 
now  lay  by  your  artillery  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Maida  is  like 
the  great  gun  at  Constantinople,"  continued  he  ;  "  it  takes  so  long 
to  get  it  ready,  that  the  small  guns  can  fire  off  a  dozen  times 
first,  but  when  it  does  go  off  it  plays  the  very  d — 1." 


212  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


These  simple  anecdotes  may  serve  to  show  the  delightfnl  play 
of  Scott's  humors  and  feelings  in  private  life.  His  domestic 
animals  were  his  friends ;  every  thing  about  him  seemed  to 
rejoice  in  the  light  of  his  countenance :  the  face  of  the  humblest 
dependent  brightened  at  his  approach,  as  if  he  anticipated  a  cor 
dial  and  cheering  word.  I  had  occasion  to  observe  this  particu 
larly  in  a  visit  which  we  paid  to  a  quarry,  whence  several  men 
were  cutting  stone  for  the  new  edifice ;  who  all  paused  from  their 
labor  to  have  a  pleasant  "  crack  wi'  the  laird."  One  of  them  was 
a  burgess  of  Selkirk,  with  whom  Scott  had  some  joke  about  the 
old  song : 

"  Up  with  the  Souters  o'  Selkirk, 
And  down  with  the  Earl  of  Home." 

Another  was  precentor  at  the  Kirk,  and,  beside  leading  the 
psalmody  on  Sunday,  taught  the  lads  and  lasses  of  the  neighbor 
hood  dancing  on  week  days?  in  the  winter  time,  when  out-of-door 
labor  was  scarce. 

Among  the  rest  was  a  tall,  straight  old  fellow,  with  a  health 
ful  complexion  and  silver  hair,  and  a  small  round-crowned  white 
hat.  He  had  been  about  to  shoulder  a  hod,  but  paused,  and  stood 
looking  at  Scott,  with  a  slight  sparkling  of  his  blue  eye,  as  if 
waiting  his  turn  ;  for  the  old  fellow  knew  himself  to  be  a  favorite. 

Scott  accosted  him  in  an  affable  tone,  and  asked  for  a  pinch 
of  snuff.  The  old  man  drew  forth  a  horn  snuff-box.  "Hoot, 
man,"  said  Scott,  "  not  that  old  mull :  where's  the  bonnie  French 
one  that  I  brought  you  from  Paris  ?"  "  Troth,  your  honor,"  re 
plied  the  old  fellow,  "  sic  a  mull  as  that  is  nae  for  week  days." 

On  leaving  the  quarry,  Scott  informed  me  that  when  absent 


ABBOTSFORD.  213 


at  Paris,  lie  had  purchased  several  trifling  articles  as  presents  for 
his  dependents,  and  among  others  the  gay  snuff-box  in  question, 
which  was  so  carefully  reserved  for  Sundays,  by  the  veteran. 
"It  was  not  so  much  the  value  of  the  gifts,"  said  he,  " that 
pleased  them,  as  the  idea  that  the  laird  should  think  of  them 
when  so  far  away." 

The  old  man  in  question,  I  found,  was  a  great  favorite  with 
Scott.  If  I  recollect  right,  he  had  been  a  soldier  in  early  life, 
and  his  straight,  erect  person,  his  ruddy  yet  rugged  countenance, 
his  gray  hair,  and  an  arch  gleam  in  his  blue  eye,  reminded  me  of 
the  description  of  Edie  Ochiltree.  I  find  that  the  old  fellow  has 
since  been  introduced  by  Wilkie,  in  his  picture  of  the  Scott 
family. 


"We  rambled  on  among  scenes  which  had  been  familiar  in 
Scottish  song,  and  rendered  classic  by  the  pastoral  muse,  long 
before  Scott  had  thrown  the  rich  mantle  of  his  poetry  over  them. 
What  a  thrill  of  pleasure  did  I  feel  when  first  I  saw  the  broom- 
covered  tops  of  the  Cowden  Knowes.  peeping  above  the  gray  hills 
of  the  Tweed  :  and  what  touching  associations  were  called  up  by 
the  sight  of  Ettrick  Vale,  Galla  Water,  and  the  Braes  of  Yar 
row  !  Every  turn  brought  to  mind  some  household  air — some 
almost  forgotten  song  of  the  nursery,  by  which  I  had  been  lulled 
to  sleep  in  my  childhood ;  and  with  them  the  looks  and  voices  of 
those  who  had  sung  them,  and  who  were  now  no  more.  It  is 
these  melodies,  chanted  in  our  ears  in  the  days  of  infancy,  and 
connected  with  the  memory  of  those  we  have  loved,  and  who  have 
passed  away,  that  clothe  Scottish  landscape  with  such  tender 


214  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


associations.  The  Scottish  songs,  in  general,  have  something 
intrinsically  melancholy  in  them  ;  owing,  in  all  probability,  to  the 
pastoral  and  lonely  life  of  those  who  composed  them ;  who  were 
often  mere  shepherds,  tending  their  flocks  in  the  solitary  glens, 
or  folding  them  among  the  naked  hills.  Many  of  these  rustic 
bards  have  passed  away,  without  leaving  a  name  behind  them ; 
nothing  remains  of  them  but  their  sweet  and  touching  songs,  which 
live,  like  echoes,  about  the  places  they  once  inhabited.  Most  of 
these  simple  effusions  of  pastoral  poets  are  linked  with  some 
favorite  haunt  of  the  poet ;  and  in  this  way,  not  a  mountain  or 
valley,  a  town  or  tower,  green  shaw  or  running  stream,  in  Scotland, 
but  has  some  popular  air  connected  with  it,  that  makes  its  very 
name  a  key  note  to  a  whole  train  of  delicious  fancies  and  feelings. 

Let  me  step  forward  in  time,  and  mention  how  sensible  I  was 
to  the  power  of  these  simple  airs,  in  a  visit  which  I  made  to  Ayr, 
the  birthplace  of  Robert  Burns.  I  passed  a  whole  morning 
about  "  the  banks  and  braes  of  bonnie  Doon,"  with  his  tender 
little  love  verses  running  in  my  head.  I  found  a  poor  Scotch 
carpenter  at  work  among  the  ruins  of  Kirk  Alloway,  which  was 
to  be  converted  into  a  school-house.  Finding  the  purpose  of  my 
visit,  he  left  his  work,  sat  down  with  me  on  a  grassy  grave,  close 
by  where  Burns'  father  was  buried,  and  talked  of  the  poet,  whom 
he  had  known  personally.  He  said  his  songs  were  familiar  to  the 
poorest  and  most  illiterate  of  the  country  folk,  "  and  it  seemed 
to  him  as  if  the  country  had  grown  more  beautiful,  since  Burns 
had  written  his  bonnie  little  songs  about  it." 

I  found  Scott  was  quite  an  enthusiast  on  the  subject  of  the 
popular  songs  of  his  country,  and  he  seemed  gratified  to  find  me 
so  alive  to  them.  Their  effect  in  calling  up  in  my  mind  the  re 
collections  of  early  times  and  scenes  in  which  I  had  first  heard 


ABBOTSFORD.  215 


them,  reminded  him,  he  said,  of  the  lines  of  his  poor   friend, 
Leyden,  to  the  Scottish  muse : 

"  In  youth's  first  morn,  alert  and  gay, 
Ere  rolling  years  had  passed  away, 

Remembered  like  a  morning  dream, 
I  heard  the  dulcet  measures  float, 
In  many  a  liquid  winding  note, 

Along  the  bank  of  Teviot's  stream. 

Sweet  sounds !  that  oft  have  soothed  to  rest 
The  sorrows  of  my  guileless  breast, 

And  charmed  away  mine  infant  tears ; 
Fond  memory  shall  your  strains  repeat, 
Like  distant  echoes,  doubly  sweet, 

That  on  the  wild  the  traveller  hears." 

Scott  went  on  to  expatiate  on  the  popular  songs  of  Scotland. 
"  They  are  a  part  of  our  national  inheritance,"  said  he,  "  and 
something  that  we  may  truly  call  our  own.  They  have  no  foreign 
taint ;  they  have  the  pure  breath  of  the  heather  and  the  moun 
tain  breeze.  All  the  genuine  legitimate  races  that  have  de 
scended  from  the  ancient  Britons  ;  such  as  the  Scotch,  the  Welsh, 
and  the  Irish,  have  national  airs.  The  English  have  none, 
because  they  are  not  natives  of  the  soil,  or,  at  least,  are  mongrels. 
Their  music  is  all  made  up  of  foreign  scraps,  like  a  harlequin 
jacket,  or  a  piece  of  mosaic.  Even  in  Scotland,  we  have  compar 
atively  few  national  songs  in  the  eastern  part,  where  we  have  had 
most  influx  of  strangers.  A  real  old  Scottish  song  is  a  cairn 
gorm — a  gem  of  our  own  mountains :  or  rather,  it  is  a  precious 
relic  of  old  times,  that  bears  the  national  character  stamped  upon 
it ; — like  a  cameo,  that  shows  what  the  national  visage  was  in 
former  days,  before  the  breed  was  crossed." 


216  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


While  Scott  was  thus  discoursing,  we  were  passing  up  a 
narrow  glen,  with  the  dogs  beating  about,  to  right  and  left,  when 
suddenly  a  black  cock  burst  upon  the  wing. 

"  Aha  !"  cried  Scott,  "  there  will  be  a  good  shot  for  master 
Walter  5  we  must  send  him  this  way  with  his  gun,  when  we  go 
home.  Walter's  the  family  sportsman  now,  and  keeps  us  in 
game.  I  have  pretty  nigh  resigned  my  gun  to  him  ;  for  I  find  I 
cannot  trudge  about  as  briskly  as  formerly." 

Our  ramble  took  us  on  the  hills  commanding  an  .extensive 
prospect.  "  Now,"  said  Scott,  "  I  have  brought  you,  like  the 
pilgrim  in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  to  the  top  of  the  Delectable 
Mountains,  that  I  may  show  you  all  the  goodly  regions  here 
abouts.  Yonder  is  Lammermuir,  and  Smalholme  ;  and  there 
you  have  Gallashiels,  and  Torwoodlie,  and  Gallawater  ;  and  in 
that  direction  you  see  Teviotdale,  and  the  Braes  of  Yarrow ;  and 
Ettrick  stream,  winding  along,  like  a  silver  thread,  to  throw 
itself  into  the  Tweed." 

He  went  on  thus  to  call  over  names  celebrated  in  Scottish 
song,  and  most  of  which  had  recently  received  a  romantic  inte 
rest  from  his  own  pen.  In  fact,  I  saw  a  great  part  of  the  border 
country  spread  out  before  me,  and  could  trace  the  scenes  of  those 
poems  and  romances  which  had,  in  a  manner,  bewitched  the 
world.  I  gazed  about  me  for  a  time  with  mute  surprise,  I  may 
almost  say  with  disappointment.  I  beheld  a  mere  succession  of 
gray  waving  hills,  line  beyond  line,  as  far  as  my  eye  could  reach  ; 
monotonous  in  their  aspect,  and  so  destitute  of  trees,  that  one 
could  almost  see  a  stout  fly  walking  along  their  profile  ;  and  the 
far-famed  Tweed  appeared  a  naked  stream,  flowing  between  bare 
hills,  without  a  tree  or  thicket  on  its  banks  ;  and  yet,  such  had 
been  the  magic  web  of  poetry  and  romance  thrown  over  the 


ABBOTSFORD.  217 


whole,  that  it  had  a  greater  charm  for  me  than  the  richest 
scenery  I  beheld  in  England. 

I  could  not  help  giving  utterance  to  my  thoughts.  Scott 
hummed  for  a  moment  to  himself,  and  looked  grave  ;  he  had  no 
idea  of  having  his  muse  complimented  at  the  expense  of  his 
native  hills.  "  It  may  be  partiality,"  said  he,  at  length  ;  "  but 
to  my  eye,  these  gray  hills  and  all  this  wild  border  country  have 
beauties  peculiar  to  themselves.  I  like  the  very  nakedness  of 
the  land  ;  it  has  something  bold,  and  stern,  and  solitary  about  it. 
When  I  have  been  for  some  time  in  the  rich  scenery  about  Edin 
burgh,  which  is  like  ornamented  garden  land,  I  begin  to  wish 
myself  back  again  among  my  own  honest  gray  hills  ;  and  if  I 
did  not  see  the  heather  at  least  once  a  year,  I  think  I  should  die!" 

The  last  words  were  said  with  an  honest  warmth,  accompanied 
with  a  thump  on  the  ground  with  his  staff,  by  way  of  emphasis, 
that  showed  his  heart  was  in  his  speech.  He  vindicated  the 
Tweed,  too.  as  a  beautiful  stream  in  itself,  and  observed  that  he 
did  not  dislike  it  for  being  bare  of  trees,  probably  from  having 
been  much  of  an  angler  in  his  time,  and  an  angler  does  not  like 
to  have  a  stream  overhung  by  trees,  which  embarrass  him  in  the 
exercise  of  his  rod  and  line. 

I  took  occasion  to  plead,  in  like  manner,  the  associations  of 
early  life,  for  my  disappointment,  in  respect  to  the  surrounding 
scenery.  I  had  been  so  accustomed  to  hills  crowned  with  forests, 
and  streams  breaking  their  way  through  .a  wilderness  of  trees, 
that  all  my  ideas  of  romantic  landscape  were  apt  to  be  well 
wooded. 

"  Aye,  and  that's  the  great  charm  of  your  country,"  cried 
Scott.  "  You  love  the  forest  as  I  do  the  heather — but  I  would 
not  have  you  think  I  do  not  feel  the  glory  of  a  great  woodland 

10 


218  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


prospect.  There  is  nothing  I  should  like  more  than  to  be  in  the 
midst  of  one  of  your  grand,  wild,  original  forests  ;  with  the  idea 
of  hundreds  of  miles  of  untrodden  forest  around  me.  I  once 
saw,  at  Leith,  an  immense  stick  of  timber,  just  landed  from 
America.  It  must  have  been  an  enormous  tree  when  it  stood  on 
its  native  soil,  at  its  full  height,  and  with  all  its  branches.  I 
gazed  at  it  with  admiration  ;  it  seemed  like  one  of  the  gigantic 
obelisks  which  are  now  and  then  brought  from  Egypt,  to  shame 
the  pigmy  monuments  of  Europe  ;  and,  in  fact,  these  vast  abori 
ginal  trees,  that  have  sheltered  the  Indians  before  the  intrusion 
of  the  white  men,  are  the  monuments  and  antiquities  of  your 
country." 

The  conversation  here  turned  upon  Campbell's  poem  of  Ger 
trude  of  Wyoming,  as  illustrative  of  the  poetic  materials  fur 
nished  by  American  scenery.  Scott  spoke  of  it  in  that  liberal 
style  in  which  I  always  found  him  to  speak  of  the  writings  of  his 
contemporaries.  He  cited  several  passages  of  it  with  great  de 
light.  "  What  a  pity  it  is."  said  he,  "  that  Campbell  does  not 
write  more  and  oftener,  and  give  full  sweep  to  his  genius.  He 
has  wings  that  would  bear  him  to  the  skies  ;  and  he  does  now  and 
then  spread  them  grandly,  but  folds  them  up  again  and  resumes 
his  perch,  as  if  he  was  afraid  to  launch  away.  He  don't  know 
or  won't  trust  his  own  strength.  Even  when  he  has  done  a  thing 
well,  he  has  often  misgivings  about  it.  He  left  out  several  fine 
passages  of  his  Lochiel,  but  I  got  him  to  restore  some  of  them." 
Here  Scott  repeated  several  passages  in  a  magnificent  style. 
"  What  a  grand  idea  is  that,"  said  he,  "  about  prophetic  boding, 
or,  in  common  parlance,  second  sight — 

'  Coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before.' 


ABBOTSFORD.  219 


It  is  a  noble  thought,  and  nobly  expressed.  And  there's  that 
glorious  little  poem,  too,  of  Hohenlinden  ;  after  he  had  written 
it,  he  did  not  seem  to  think  much  of  it,  but  considered  some  of 
it  '  d — d  drum  and  trumpet  lines.'  I  got  him  to  recite  it  to  me, 
and  I  believe  that  the  delight  I  felt  and  expressed  had  an  effect 
in  inducing  him  to  print  it.  The  fact  is,"  added  he,  "  Campbell 
is,  in  a  manner,  a  bugbear  to  himself.  The  brightness  of  his 
early  success  is  a  detriment  to  all  his  further  efforts.  He  is 
afraid  of  the  shadoiv  that  his  own  fame  casts  before  him.'1'1 

While  we  were  thus  chatting,  we  heard  the  report  of  a  gun 
among  the  hills.  "  That's  Walter,  I  think,"  said  Scott,  "  he  has 
finished  his  morning's  studies,  and  is  out  with  his  gun.  I  should 
not  be  surprised  if  he  had  met  with  the  black  cock ;  if  so,  we 
shall  have  an  addition  to  our  larder,  for  Walter  is  a  pretty  sure 
shot." 

I  inquired  into  the  nature  of  Walter's  studies.  "  Faith,"  said 
Scott,  "  I  can't  say  much  on  that  head.  I  am  not  over  bent  upon 
making  prodigies  of  any  of  my  children.  As  to  Walter,  I  taught 
him,  while  a  boy,  to  ride,  and  shoot,  and  speak  the  truth ;  as  to 
the  other  parts  of  his  education,  I  leave  them  to  a  very  worthy 
young  man,  the  son  of  one  of  our  clergymen,  who  instructs  all 
my  children." 

I  afterwards  became  acquainted  with  the  young  man  in  ques 
tion,  George  Thomson,  son  of  the  minister  of  Melrose,  and  found 
him  possessed  of  much  learning,  intelligence,  and  modest  worth. 
He  used  to  come  every  day  from  his  father's  residence  at  Melrose 
to  superintend  the  studies  of  the  young  folks,  and  occasionally 
took  his  meals  at  Abbotsford,  where  he  was  highly  esteemed. 
Nature  had  cut  him  out,  Scott  used  to  say,  for  a  stalwart  soldier, 
for  he  was  tall,  vigorous,  active,  and  fond  of  athletic  exercises, 


220  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


but  accident  had  marred  her  work,  the  loss  of  a  limb  in  boyhood 
having  reduced  him  to  a  wooden  leg.  He  was  brought  up,  there 
fore,  for  the  church,  whence  he  was  occasionally  called  the  Do 
minie,  and  is  supposed,  by  his  mixture  of  learning,  simplicity, 
and  amiable  eccentricity,  to  have  furnished  many  traits  for  the 
character  of  Dominie  Sampson.  I  believe  he  often  acted  as 
Scott's  amanuensis,  when  composing  his  novels.  With  him  the 
young  people  were  occupied,  in  general,  during  the  early  part  of 
the  day,  after  which  they  took  all  kinds  of  healthful  recreations 
in  the  open  air  ;  for  Scott  was  as  solicitous  to  strengthen  their 
bodies  as  their  minds. 

We  had  not  walked  much  further  before  we  saw  the  two  Miss 
Scotts  advancing  along  the  hill  side  to  meet  us.  The  morning's 
studies  being  over,  they  had  set  off  to  take  a  ramble  on  the  hills, 
and  gather  heather  blossoms  with  which  to  decorate  their  hair 
for  dinner.  As  they  came  bounding  lightly  like  young  fawns, 
and  their  dresses  fluttering  in  the  pure  summer  breeze,  I  was 
reminded  of  Scott's  own  description  of  his  children  in  his  intro 
duction  to  one  of  the  cantos  of  Marmion — 

"  My  imps,  though  hardy,  bold,  and  wild, 
As  best  befits  the  mountain  child, 
Their  summer  gambols  tell  and  mourn, 
And  anxious  ask  will  spring  return, 
And  birds  and  lambs  again  be  gay, 
And  blossoms  clothe  the  hawthorn  spray  1 

Yes,  prattlers,  yes,  the  daisy's  flower 
Again  shall  paint  your  summer  bower  ; 
Again  the  hawthorn  shall  supply 
The  garlands  you  delight  to  tie  ; 


ABBOTSFORD.  221 


The  lambs  upon  the  lea  shall  bound, 
The  wild  birds  carol  to  the  round, 
And  while  you  frolic  light  as  they, 
Too  short  shall  seem  the  summer  day." 

As  they  approached,  the  dogs  all  sprang  forward  and  gambolled 
around  them.  They  played  with  them,  for  a  time,  and  then 
joined  us  with  countenances  full  of  health  and  glee.  Sophia,  the 
eldest,  was  the  most  lively  and  joyous,  having  much  of  her  father's 
varied  spirit  in  conversation,  and  seeming  to  catch  excitement 
from  his  words  and  looks.  Ann  was  of  quieter  mood,  rather 
silent,  owing,  in  some  measure,  no  doubt,  to  her  being  some  years 
younger. 


At  dinner  Scott  had  laid  by  his  half  rustic  dress,  and  ap 
peared  clad  in  black.  The  girls,  too,  in  completing  their  toilet, 
had  twisted  in  their  hair  the  sprigs  of  purple  heather  which  they 
had  gathered  on  the  hill  side,  and  looked  all  fresh  and  blooming 
from  their  breezy  walk. 

There  was  no  guest  at  dinner  but  myself.  Around  the  table 
were  two  or  three  dogs  in  attendance.  Maida,  the  old  stag 
hound,  took  his  seat  at  Scott's  elbow,  looking  up  wistfully  in  his 
master's  eye,  while  Finette,  the  pet  spaniel,  placed  herself  near 
Mrs.  Scott,  by  whom,  I  soon  perceived,  she  was  completely 
spoiled. 

The  conversation  happening  to  turn  on  the  merits  of  his  dogs, 
Scott  spoke  with  great  feeling  and  affection  of  his  favorite,  Camp, 
who  is  depicted  by  his  side  in  the  earlier  engravings  of  him. 


222  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


He  talked  of  him  as  of  a  real  friend  whom  he  had  lost,  and 
Sophia  Scott,  looking  up  archly  in  his  face,  observed  that  Papa 
shed  a  few  tears  when  poor  Camp  died.  I  may  here  mention 
another  testimonial  of  Scott's  fondness  for  his  dogs,  and  his 
humorous  mode  of  showing  it,  which  I  subsequently  met  with. 
Rambling  with  him  one  morning  about  the  grounds  adjacent  to 
the  house,  I  observed  a  small  antique  monument,  on  which  was 
inscribed,  in  Gothic  characters — 

"  Cy  git  le  preux  Percy." 
(Here  lies  the  brave  Percy.) 

I  paused,  supposing  it  to  be  the  tomb  of  some  stark  warrior  of 
the  olden  time,  but  Scott  drew  me  on,  "  Pooh  !"  cried  he,  "  it's 
nothing  but  one  of  the  monuments  of  my  nonsense,  of  which 
you'll  find  enough  hereabouts."  I  learnt  afterwards  that  it  was 
the  grave  of  a  favorite  greyhound. 

Among  the  other  important  and  privileged  members  of  the 
household  who  figured  in  attendance  at  the  dinner,  was  a  large 
gray  cat,  who,  I  observed,  was  regaled  from  time  to  time  with  tit 
bits  from  the  table.  This  sage  grimalkin  was  a  favorite  of  both 
master  and  mistress,  and  slept  at  night  in  their  room  ;  and  Scott 
laughingly  observed,  that  one  of  the  least  wise  parts  of  their 
establishment  was,  that  the  window  was  left  open  at  night  for 
puss  to  go  in  and  out.  The  cat  assumed  a  kind  of  ascendency 
among  the  quadrupeds — sitting  in  state  in  Scott's  arm-chair,  and 
occasionally  stationing  himself  on  a  chair  beside  the  door,  as  if 
to  review  his  subjects  as  they  passed,  giving  each  dog  a  cuff 
beside  the  ears  as  he  went  by.  This  clapper-clawing  was  always 
taken  in  good  part ;  it  appeared  to  be,  in  fact,  a  mere  act  of 
sovereignty  on  the  part  of  grimalkin,  to  remind  the  others  of 


ABBOTSFORD.  223 


their  vassalage ;  which  they  acknowledged  by  the  most  perfect 
acquiescence.  A  general  harmony  prevailed  between  sovereign 
and  subjects,  and  they  would  all  sleep  together  in  the  sunshine. 

Scott  was  full  of  anecdote  and  conversation  during  dinner. 
He  made  some  admirable  remarks  upon  the  Scottish  character, 
and  spoke  strongly  in  praise  of  the  quiet,  orderly,  honest  conduct 
of  his  neighbors,  which  one  would  hardly  expect,  said  he,  from 
the  descendants  of  moss  troopers,  and  borderers,  in  a  neighbor 
hood  famed  in  old  times  for  brawl  and  feud,  and  violence  of  all 
kinds.  He  said  he  had,  in  his  official  capacity  of  sheriff,  admin 
istered  the  laws  for  a  number  of  years,  during  which  there  had 
been  very  few  trials.  The  old  feuds  and  local  interests,  and 
rivalries,  and  animosities  of  the  Scotch,  however,  still  slept,  he 
said,  in  their  ashes,  and  might  easily  be  roused.  Their  heredi 
tary  feeling  for  names  was  still  great.  It  was  not  always  safe  to 
have  even  the  game  of  foot-ball  between  villages,  the  old  clannish 
spirit  was  too  apt  to  break  out.  The  Scotch,  he  said,  were  more 
revengeful  than  the  English;  they  carried  their  resentments 
longer,  and  would  sometimes  lay  them  by  for  years,  but  would 
be  sure  to  gratify  them  in  the  end. 

The  ancient  jealousy  between  the  Highlanders  and  the  Low- 
landers  still  continued  to  a  certain  degree,  the  former  looking 
upon  the  latter  as  an  inferior  race,  less  brave  and  hardy,  but  at 
the  same  time,  suspecting  them  of  a  disposition  to  take  airs  upon 
themselves  under  the  idea  of  superior  refinement.  This  made 
them  techy  and  ticklish  company  for  a  stranger  on  his  first 
coming  among  them ;  ruffling  up  and  putting  themselves  upon 
their  mettle  on  the  slightest  occasion,  so  that  he  had  in  a  manner 
to  quarrel  and  fight  his  way  into  their  good  graces. 

He  instanced  a  case  in  point  in  a  brother  of  Mungo  Park, 


224  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


who  went  to  take  up  his  residence  in  a  wild  neighborhood  of  the 
Highlands.  He  soon  found  himself  considered  as  an  intruder, 
and  that  there  was  a  disposition  among  these  cocks  of  the  hills, 
to  fix  a  quarrel  on  him,  trusting  that,  being  a  Lowlander,  he  would 
show  the  white  feather. 

For  a  time  he  bore  their  flings  and  taunts  with  great  coolness, 
until  one,  presuming  on  his  forbearance,  drew  forth  a  dirk,  and 
holding  it  before  him,  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  seen  a  weapon 
like  that  in  his  part  of  the  country.  Park,  who  was  a  Hercules 
in  frame,  seized  the  dirk,  and,  with  one  blow,  drove  it  through 
an  oaken  table  :— "  Yes,"  replied  he,  "  and  tell  your  friends  that 
a  man  from  the  Lowlands  drove  it  where  the  devil  himself  can 
not  draw  it  out  again."  All  persons  were  delighted  with  the 
feat,  and  the  words  that  accompanied  it.  They  drank  with  Park 
to  a  better  acquaintance,  and  were  stanch  friends  ever  afterwards. 


After  dinner  we  adjourned  to  the  drawing-room,  which  served 
also  for  study  and  library.  Against  the  wall  on  one  side  was  a 
long  writing-table,  with  drawers  ;  surmounted  by  a  small  cabinet 
of  polished  wood,  with  folding  doors  richly  studded  with  brass 
ornaments,  within  which  Scott  kept  his  most  valuable  papers. 
Above  the  cabinet,  in  a  kind  of  niche,  was  a  complete  corslet  of 
glittering  steel,  with  a  closed  helmet,  and  flanked  by  gauntlets 
and  battle-axes.  Around  were  hung  trophies  and  relics  of  vari 
ous  kinds :  a  cimeter  of  Tippoo  Saib ;  a  Highland  broadsword 
from  Floddenfield ;  a  pair  of  Eippon  spurs  from  Bannockburn ; 
and  above  all,  a  gun  which  had  belonged  to  Rob  Roy,  and  bore 
his  initials,  R.  M.  Gr.,  an  object  of  peculiar  interest  to  me  at  the 


ABBOTSFORD.  225 


time,  as  it  was  understood  Scott  was  actually  engaged  in  printing 
a  novel  founded  on  the  story  of  that  famous  outlaw. 

On  each  side  of  the  cabinet  were  book-cases,  well  stored  with 
works  of  romantic  fiction  in  various  languages,  many  of  them 
rare  and  antiquated.  This,  however,  was  merely  his  cottage 
library,  the  principal  part  of  his  books  being  at  Edinburgh. 

From  this  little  cabinet  of  curiosities  Scott  drew  forth  a 
manuscript  picked  up  on  the  field  of  Waterloo,  containing  copies 
of  several  songs  popular  at  the  time  in  France.  The  paper  was 
dabbled  with  blood — "the  very  life-blood,  very  possibly,"  said 
Scott,  "  of  some  gay  young  officer,  who  had  cherished  these  songs 
as  a  keepsake  from  some  lady  love  in  Paris." 

He  adverted  in  a  mellow  and  delightful  manner  to  the  little 
half  gay,  half  melancholy  campaigning  song,  said  to  have  been 
composed  by  General  Wolfe,  and  sung  by  him  at  the  mess  table, 
on  the  eve  of  the  storming  of  Quebec,  in  which  he  fell  so 
gloriously. 

"  Why,  soldiers,  why, 
Should  we  be  melancholy,  boys  ? 
Why,  soldiers,  why, 
Whose  business  'tis  to  die  ! 
For  should  next  campaign 
Send  us  to  him  who  made  us,  boys, 
We're  free  from  pain : 
But  should  we  remain, 
A  bottle  and  kind  landlady 
Makes  all  well  again." 

"  So,  added  he,  "  the  poor  lad  who  fell  at  Waterloo,  in  all 
probability,  had  been  singing  these  songs  in  his  tent  the  night 
before  the  battle,  and  thinking  of  the  fair  dame  who  had  taught 

10* 


226  CRAYON    MISCELLANY. 


him  them,  and  promising  himself,  should  he  outlive  the  campaign, 
to  return  to  her  all  glorious  from  the  wars." 

I  find  since  that  Scott  published  translations  of  these  songs 
among  some  of  his  smaller  poems. 

The  evening  passed  away  delightfully  in  this  quaint-looking 
apartment,  half  study,  half  drawing-room.  Scott  read  several 
passages  from  the  old  romance  of  Arthur,  with  a  fine  deep  sono 
rous  voice,  and  a  gravity  of  tone  that  seemed  to  suit  the  anti 
quated,  black-letter  volume.  It  was  a  rich  treat  to  hear  such  a 
work,  read  by  such  a  person,  and  in  such  a  place ;  and  his  appear 
ance  as  he  sat  reading,  in  a  large  armed  chair,  with  his  favorite 
hound  Maida  at  his  feet,  and  surrounded  by  books  and  relics,  and 
border  trophies,  would  have  formed  an  admirable  and  most  char 
acteristic  picture. 

While  Scott  was  reading,  the  sage  grimalkin  already  men 
tioned  had  taken  his  seat  in  a  chair  beside  the  fire,  and  remained 
with  fixed  eye  and  grave  demeanor,  as  if  listening  to  the  reader. 
I  observed  to  Scott  that  his  cat  seemed  to  have  a  black-letter 
taste  in  literature. 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  these  cats  are  a  very  mysterious  kind  of 
folk.  There  is  always  more  passing  in  their  minds  than  we  are 
aware  of.  It  comes  no  doubt  from  their  being  so  familiar  with 
witches  and  warlocks."  He  went  on  to  tell  a  little  story  about  a 
gude  man  who  was  returning  to  his  cottage  one  night,  when,  in  a 
lonely  out  of  the  way  place,  he  met  with  a  funeral  procession  of 
cats  all  in  mourning,  bearing  one  of  their  race  to  the  grave  in  a 
coffin  covered  with  a  black  velvet  pall.  The  worthy  man,  aston 
ished  and  half  frightened  at  so  strange  a  pageant,  hastened  home 
and  told  what  he  had  seen  to  his  wife  and  children.  Scarce  had 
he  finished,  when  a  great  black  cat  that  sat  beside  the  fire  raised 


ABBOTSFORD.  227 


himself  up,  exclaimed  "  Then  I  am  king  of  the  cats  !"  and  van 
ished  up  the  chimney.  The  funeral  seen  by  the  gude  man,  was 
one  of  the  cat  dynasty.  * 

"  Our  grimalkin  here,"  added  Scott,  "  sometimes  reminds  me 
of  the  story,  by  the  airs  of  sovereignty  which  he  assumes  ;  and  I 
am  apt  to  treat  him  with  respect  from  the  idea  that  he  may  be  a 
great  prince  incog.,  and  may  some  time  or  other  come  to  the 
throne." 

In  this  way  Scott  would  make  the  habits  and  peculiarities  of 
even  the  dumb  animals  about  him,  subjects  for  humorous  remark 
or  whimsical  story. 

Our  evening  was  enlivened  also  by  an  occasional  song  from 
Sophia  Scott,  at  the  request  of  her  father.  She  never  wanted  to 
be  asked  twice,  but  complied  frankly  and  cheerfully.  Her  songs 
were  all  Scotch,  sung  without  any  accompaniment,  in  a  simple 
manner,  but  with  great  spirit  and  expression,  and  in  their  native 
dialects,  which  gave  them  an  additional  charm.  It  was  delightful 
to  hear  her  carol  off  in  sprightly  style,  and  with  an  animated  air, 
some  of  those  generous-spirited  old  Jacobite  songs,  once  current 
among  the  adherents  of  the  Pretender  in  Scotland,  in  which  he 
is  designated  by  the  appellation  of  "  The  Young  Chevalier." 

These  songs  were  much  relished  by  Scott,  notwithstanding 
his  loyalty  ;  for  the  unfortunate  "  Chevalier  "  has  always  been  a 
hero  of  romance  with  him,  as  he  has  with  many  other  stanch  ad 
herents  to  the  House  of  Hanover,  now  that  the  Stuart  line  has  lost 
all  its  terrors.  In  speaking  on  the  subject,  Scott  mentioned  as  a 
curious  fact,  that,  among  the  papers  of  the  <;  Chevalier,"  which 
had  been  submitted  by  government  to  his  inspection,  he  had 
found  a  memorial  to  Charles  from  some  adherents  in  America, 
dated  1778,  proposing  to  set  up  his  standard  in  the  back  settle- 


CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


ments.  I  regret  that,  at  the  time,  I  did  not  make  more  particular 
inquiries  of  Scott  on  the  subject;  the  document  in  question, 
however,  in  all  probability,  stilkexists  among  the  Pretender's 
papers,  which  are  in  the  possession  of  the  British  Government. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  Scott  related  the  story  of  a 
whimsical  picture  hanging  in  the  room,  which  had  been  drawn  for 
him  by  a  lady  of  his  acquaintance.  It  represented  the  doleful 
perplexity  of  a  wealthy  and  handsome  young  English  knight  of 
the  olden  time,  who,  in  the  course  of  a  border  foray,  had  been 
captured  and  carried  off  to  the  castle  of  a  hard-headed  and  high 
handed  old  baron.  The  unfortunate  youth  was  thrown  into  a 
dungeon,  and  a  tall  gallows  erected  before  the  castle  gate  for  his 
execution.  When  all  was  ready,  he  was  brought  into  the  castle 
hall  where  the  grim  baron  was  seated  in  state,  with  his  warriors 
armed  to  the  teeth  around  him,  and  was  given  his  choice,  either 
to  swing  on  the  gibbet  or  to  marry  the  baron's  daughter.  The 
last  may  be  thought  an  easy  alternative,  but  unfortunately,  the 
baron's  young  lady  was  hideously  ugly,  with  a  mouth  from  ear  to 
ear,  so  that  not  a  suitor  was  to  be  had  for  her,  either  for  love  or 
money,  and  she  was  known  throughout  the  border  country  by  the 
name  of  Muckle-mouthed  Mag ! 

The  picture  in  question  represented  the  unhappy  dilemma  of 
the  handsome  youth.  Before  him  sat  the  grim  baron,  with  a  face 
worthy  of  the  father  of  such  a  daughter,  and  looking  daggers 
and  rat's-bane.  On  one  side  of  him  was  Muckle-mouthed  Mag, 
with  an  amorous  smile  across  the  whole  breadth  of  her  counte 
nance,  and  a  leer  enough  to  turn  a  man  to  stone ;  on  the  other 
side  was  the  father  confessor,  a  sleek  friar,  jogging  the  youth's 
elbow,  and  pointing  to  the  gallows,  seen  in  perspective  through 
the  open  portal. 


ABBOTSFORD.  229 


The  story  goes,  that  after  long  laboring  in  mind,  between  the 
altar  and  the  halter,  the  love  of  life  prevailed,  and  the  youth  re 
signed  himself  to  the  charms  of  Muckle-mouthed  Mag.  Con 
trary  to  all  the  probabilities  of  romance,  the  match  proved  a 
happy  one.  The  baron's  daughter,  if  not  beautiful,  was  a  most 
exemplary  wife ;  her  husband  was  never  troubled  with  any  of 
those  doubts  and  jealousies  which  sometimes  mar  the  happiness 
of  connubial  life,  and  was  made  the  father  of  a  fair  and  undoubt 
edly  legitimate  line,  which  still  nourishes  on  the  border. 

I  give  but  a  faint  outline  of  the  story  from  vague  recollection  ; 
it  may,  perchance,  be  more  richly  related  elsewhere,  by  some  one 
who  may  retain  something  of  the  delightful  humor  with  which 
Scott  recounted  it. 

When  I  retired  for  the  night,  I  found  it  almost  impossible 
to  sleep  ;  the  idea  of  being  under  the  roof  of  Scott ;  of  being  on 
the  borders  of  the  Tweed,  in  the  very  centre  of  that  region  which 
had  for  some  time  past  been  the  favorite  scene  of  romantic  fiction  ; 
and  above  all,  the  recollections  of  the  ramble  I  had  taken,  the 
company  in  which  I  had  taken  it,  and  the  conversation  which  had 
passed,  all  fermented  in  my  mind,  and  nearly  drove  sleep  from 
my  pillow. 


On  the  following  morning,  the  sun  darted  his  beams  from 
over  the  hills  through  the  low  lattice  window.  I  rose  at  an 
early  hour,  and  looked  out  between  the  branches  of  eglantine 
which  overhung  the  casement.  To  my  surprise  Scott  was  already 
up  and  forth,  seated  on  a  fragment  of  stone,  and  chatting  with 
the  workmen  employed  on  the  new  building.  I  had  supposed, 


230  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


after  the  time  lie  had  wasted  upon  me  yesterday,  he  would  be 
closely  occupied  this  morning :  but  he  appeared  like  a  man  of 
leisure,  who  had  nothing  to  do  but  bask  in  the  sunshine  and 
amuse  himself. 

I  soon  dressed  myself  and  joined  him.  He  talked  about  his 
proposed  plans  of  Abbotsford :  happy  would  it  have  been  for 
him  could  he  have  contented  himself  with  his  delightful  little 
vine-covered  cottage,  and  the  simple,  yet  hearty  and  hospitable 
style,  in  which  he  lived  at  the  time  of  my  visit.  The  great  pile 
of  Abbotsford,  with  the  huge  expense  it  entailed  upon  him,  of 
servants,  retainers,  guests,  and  baronial  style,  was  a  drain  upon 
his  purse,  a  tax  upon  his  exertions,  and  a  weight  upon  his  mind, 
that  finally  crushed  him. 

As  yet,  however,  all  was  in  embryo  and  perspective,  and  Scott 
pleased  himself  with  picturing  out  his  future  residence,  as  he  would 
one  of  the  fanciful  creations  of  his  own  romances.  "  It  was  one 
of  his  air  castles,"  he  said,  "  which  he  was  reducing  to  solid  stone 
and  mortar."  About  the  place  were  strewed  various  morsels 
from  the  ruins  of  Melrose  Abbey,  which  were  to  be  incorporated 
in  his  mansion.  He  had  already  constructed  out  of  similar  ma 
terials  a  kind  of  Gothic  shrine  over  a  spring,  and  had  surmounted 
it  by  a  small  stone  cross. 

Among  the  relics  from  the  Abbey  which  lay  scattered  before 
us,  was  a  most  quaint  and  antique  little  lion,  either  of  red  stone, 
or  painted  red,  which  hit  my  fancy.  I  forget  whose  cognizance 
it  was  5  but  I  shall  never  forget  the  delightful  observations  con 
cerning  old  Melrose  to  which  it  accidentally  gave  rise. 

The  Abbey  was  evidently  a  pile  that  called  up  all  Scott's 
poetic  and  romantic  feelings  ;  and  one  to  which  he  was  enthusi 
astically  attached  by  the  most  fanciful  and  delightful  of  his  early 


ABBOTSFORD.  231 


associations.  He  spoke  of  it,  I  may  say,  with  affection.  "  There 
is  no  telling,"  said  he,  "  what  treasures  are  hid  in  that  glorious 
old  pile.  It  is  a  famous  place  for  antiquarian  plunder  ;  there 
are  such  rich  bits  of  old  time  sculpture  for  the  architect,  and  old 
time  story  for  the  poet.  There  is  as  rare  picking  in  it  as  in  a 
Stilton  cheese,  and  in  the  same  taste — the  mouldier  the  better." 

He  went  on  to  mention  circumstances  of  "mighty  import" 
connected  with  the  Abbey,  which  had  never  been  touched,  and 
which  had  even  escaped  the  researches  of  Johnny  Bower.  The 
heart  of  Robert  Bruce,  the  hero  of  Scotland,  had  been  buried  in 
it.  He  dwelt  on  the  beautiful  story  of  Bruce's  pious  and  chival 
rous  request  in  his  dying  hour,  that  his  heart  might  be  carried 
to  the  Holy  Land  and  placed  in  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  in  fulfilment 
of  a  vow  of  pilgrimage  ;  and  of  the  loyal  expedition  of  Sir  James 
Douglas  to  convey  the  glorious  relic.  Much  might  be  made,  he 
said,  out  of  the  adventures  of  Sir  James  in  that  adventurous 
age  ;  of  his  fortunes  in  Spain,  and  his  death  in  a  crusade  against 
the  Moors  ;  with  the  subsequent  fortunes  of  the  heart  of  Robert 
Bruce,  until  it  was  brought  back  to  its  native  land,  and  inshrined 
within  the  holy  walls  of  old  Melrose. 

As  Scott  sat  on  a  stone  talking  in  this  way,  and  knocking 
with  his  staff  against  the  little  red  lion  which  lay  prostrate  before 
him,  his  gray  eyes  twinkled  beneath  his  shagged  eyebrows  5  scenes, 
images,  incidents,  kept  breaking  upon  his  mind  as  he  proceeded, 
mingled  with  touches  of  the  mysterious  and  supernatural  as  con 
nected  with  the  heart  of  Bruce.  It  seemed  as  if  a  poem  or  ro 
mance  were  breaking  vaguely  on  his  imagination.  That  he  sub 
sequently  contemplated  something  of  the  kind,  as  connected  with 
this  subject,  and  with  his  favorite  ruin  of  Melrose,  is  evident  from 
his  introduction  to  '  The  Monastery ;'  and  it  is  a  pity  that  he 


232  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


never  succeeded  in  following  out  these  shadowy  but  enthusiastic 
conceptions. 

A  summons  to  breakfast  broke  off  our  conversation,  when  I 
begged  to  recommend  to  Scott's  attention  my  friend  the  little  red 
lion,  who  had  led  to  such  an  interesting  topic,  and  hoped  he  might 
receive  some  niche  or  station  in  the  future  castle,  worthy  of  his 
evident  antiquity  and  apparent  dignity.  Scott  "assured  me,  with 
comic  gravity,  that  the  valiant  little  lion  should  be  most  honor 
ably  entertained  ;  I  hope,  therefore,  that  he  still  nourishes  at 
Abbotsford. 

Before  dismissing  the  theme  of  the  relics  from  the  Abbey,  I 
will  mention  another,  illustrative  of  Scott's  varied  humors.  This 
was  a  human  skull,  which  had  probably  belonged  of  yore  to  one 
of  those  jovial  friars,  so  honorably  mentioned  in  the  old  border 
ballad : 

"  O  the  monks  of  Melrose  made  gude  kale 

On  Fridays,  when  they  fasted  ; 
They  wanted  neither  beef  nor  ale, 
As  long  as  their  neighbors  lasted." 

This  skull  Scott  had  caused  to  be  cleaned  and  varnished,  and 
placed  it  on  a  chest  of  drawers  in  his  chamber,  immediately  op 
posite  his  bed  ;  where  I  have  seen  it,  grinning  most  dismally.  It 
was  an  object  of  great  awe  and  horror  to  the  superstitious  house 
maids  ;  and  Scott  used  to  amuse  himself  with  their  apprehen 
sions.  Sometimes,  in  changing  his  dress,  he  would  leave  his 
neckcloth  coiled  round  it  like  a  turban,  and  none  of  the  "  lasses  " 
dared  to  remove  it.  It  was  a  matter  of  great  wonder  and  specu 
lation  among  them  that  the  laird  should  have  such  an  "  awsome 
fancy  for  an  auld  girning  skull." 


ABBOTSFORD.  233 


At  breakfast  that  morning,  Scott  gave  an  amusing  account 
of  a  little  Highlander  called  Campbell  of  the  North,  who  had  a 
lawsuit  of  many  years'  standing  with  a  nobleman  in  his  neighbor 
hood  about  the  boundaries  of  their  estates.  It  was  the  leading 
object  of  the  little  man's  life  ;  the  running'theme  of  all  his  con 
versations  ;  he  used  to  detail  all  the  circumstances  at  full  length 
to  every  body  he  met,  and,  to  aid  him  in  his  description  of  the 
premises,  and  make  his  story  "  inair  preceese,"  he  had  a  great 
map  made  of  his  estate,  a  huge  roll  several  feet  long,  which  he 
used  to  carry  about  on  his  shoulder.  Campbell  was  a  long-bodied, 
but  short  and  bandy-legged  little  man,  always  clad  in  the  High 
land  garb  ;  and  as  he  went  about  with  this  great  roll  on  his 
shoulder,  and  his  little  legs  curving  like  a  pair  of  parentheses 
below  his  kilt,  he  was  an  odd  figure  to  behold.  He  was  like  little 
David  shouldering  the  spear  of  Goliath,  which  was  "  like  unto 
a  weaver's  beam." 

Whenever  sheep-shearing  was  over,  Campbell  used  to  set  out 
for  Edinburgh  to  attend  to  his  lawsuit.  At  the  inns  he  paid 
double  for  all  his  meals  and  his  nights'  lodgings  ;  telling  the 
landlords  to  keep  it  in  mind  until  his  return,  so  that  he  might 
come  back  that  way  at  free  cost ;  for  he  knew,  he  said,  that  he 
would  spend  all  his  money  among  the  lawyers  at  Edinburgh,  so 
he  thought  it  best  to  secure  a  retreat  home  again. 

On  one  of  his  visits  he  called  upon  his  lawyer,  but  was  told 
he  was  not  at  home,  but  his  lady  was.  "  It  is  just  the  same 
thing,"  said  little  Campbell.  On  being  shown  into  the  parlor, 
he  unrolled  his  map,  stated  his  case  at  full  length,  and,  having 
gone  through  with  his  story,  gave  her  the  customary  fee.  She 
would  have  declined  it,  but  he  insisted  on  her  taking  it.  "  I  ha' 
had  just  as  much  pleasure,"  said  he,  "  in  telling  the  whole  tale 


234  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


to  you,  as  I  should  have  had  in  telling  it  to  your  husband,  and  I 
believe  full  as  much  profit." 

The  last  time  he  saw  Scott,  he  told  him  he  believed  he  and 
the  laird  were  near  a  settlement,  as  they  agreed  to  within  a  few 
miles  of  the  boundary.  If  I  recollect  right,  Scott  added  that  he 
advised  the  little  man  to  consign  his  cause  and  his  map  to  the 
care  of  "  Slow  Willie  Mowbray,"  of  tedious  memory  ;  an  Edin 
burgh  worthy,  much  employed  by  the  country  people,  for  he  tired 
out  every  body  in  office  by  repeated  visits  and  drawling,  endless 
prolixity,  and  gained  every  suit  by  dint  of  boring. 

These  little  stories  and  anecdotes,  which  abounded  in  Scott's 
conversation,  rose  naturally  out  of  the  subject,  and  were  perfectly 
unforced  ;  though  in  thus  relating  them  in  a  detached  way,  with 
out  the  observations  or  circumstances  which  led  to  them,  and 
which  have  passed  from  my  recollection,  they  want  their  setting 
to  give  them  proper  relief.  They  will  serve,  however,  to  show 
the  natural  play  of  his  mind,  in  its  familiar  moods,  and  its  fecun 
dity  in  graphic  and  characteristic  detail. 

His  daughter  Sophia  and  his  son  Charles  were  those  of  his 
family  who  seemed  most  to  feel  and  understand  his  humors,  and 
to  take  delight  in  his  conversation.  Mrs.  Scott  did  not  always 
pay  the  same  attention,  and  would  now  and  then  make  a  casual 
remark  which  would  operate  a  little  like  a  damper.  Thus,  one 
morning  at  breakfast,  when  Dominie  Thompson  the  tutor  was 
present,  Scott  was  going  on  with  great  glee  to  relate  an  anecdote 
of  the  laird  of  Macnab,  "  who,  poor  fellow !"  premised  he,  "  is 
dead  and  gone — "  "  Why,"  Mr.  Scott,"  exclaimed  the  good  lady, 
"  Macnab's  not  dead,  is  he  ?"  "  Faith,  my  dear,"  replied  Scott, 
with  humorous  gravity,  "  if  he's  not  dead  they've  done  him  great 
injustice, — for  they've  buried  him." 


235 


The  joke  passed  harmless  and  unnoticed  by  Mrs.  Scott,  but 
hit  the  poor  Dominie  just  as  he  had  raised  a  cup  of  tea  to  his 
lips,  causing  a  burst  of  laughter  which  sent  half  of  the  contents 
about  the  table. 


After  breakfast,  Scott  was  occupied  for  some  time  correcting 
proof  sheets,  which  he  had  received  by  the  mail.  The  novel  of 
Rob  Roy,  as  I  have  already  observed,  was  at  that  time  in  the 
press,  and  I  supposed  them  to  be  the  proof  sheets  of  that  work. 
The  authorship  of  the  Waverly  novels  was  still  a  matter  of  con 
jecture  and  uncertainty  ;  though  few  doubted  their  being  princi 
pally  written  by  Scott.  One  proof  to  me  of  his  being  the  author, 
was  that  he  never  adverted  to  them.  A  man  so  fond  of  any 
thing  Scottish,  and  any  thing  relating  to  national  history  or  local 
legend,  could  not  have  been  mute  respecting  such  productions, 
had  they  been  written  by  another.  He  was  fond  of  quoting  the 
works  of  his  contemporaries  ;  he  was  continually  reciting  scraps 
of  border  songs,  or  relating  anecdotes  of  border  story.  With 
respect  to  his  own  poems,  and  their  merits,  however,  he  was 
mute,  and  while  with  him  I  observed  a  scrupulous  silence  on  the 
subject. 

I  may  here  mention  a  singular  fact,  of  which  I  was  not  aware 
at  the  time,  that  Scott  was  very  reserved  with  his  children  respect 
ing  his  own  writings,  and  was  even  disinclined  to  their  reading 
his  romantic  poems.  I  learnt  this,  some  time  after,  from  a  pas 
sage  in  one  of  his  letters  to  me.  adverting  to  a  set  of  the  Ameri 
can  miniature  edition  of  his  poems,  which,  on  my  return  to  Eng 
land,  I  forwarded  to  one  of  the  young  ladies.  "  In  my  hurry," 


236  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


writes  lie,  "  I  have  not  thanked  you,  in  Sophia's  name,  for  the 
kind  attention  which  furnished  her  with  the  American  volumes. 
I  am  not  quite  sure  I  can  add  my  own,  since  you  have  made  her 
acquainted  with  much  more  of  papa's  folly,  than  she  would  other 
wise  have  learned  ;  for  I  have  taken  special  care  they  should 
never  see  any  of  these  things  during  their  earlier  years." 

To  return  to  the  thread  of  my  narrative.  When  Scott  had 
got  through  his  brief  literary  occupation,  we  set  out  on  a  ramble. 
The  young  ladies  started  to  accompany  us,  but  had  not  gone  far, 
when  they  met  a  poor  old  laborer  and  his  distressed  family,  and 
turned  back  to  take  them  to  the  house,  and  relieve  them. 

On  passing  the  bounds  of  Abbotsford,  we  came  upon  a  bleak- 
looking  farm,  with  a  forlorn  crazy  old  manse,  or  farmhouse, 
standing  in  naked  desolation.  This,  however,  Scott  told  me  was 
an  ancient  hereditary  property  called  Lauckend,  about  as  valua 
ble  as  the  patrimonial  estate  of  Don  Quixote,  and  which,  in  like 
manner,  conferred  an  hereditary  dignity  upon  its  proprietor,  who 
was  a  laird,  and,  though  poor  as  a  rat,  prided  himself  upon  his 
ancient  blood,  and  the  standing  of  his  house.  He  was  accordingly 
called  Lauckend,  according  to  the  Scottish  custom  of  naming  a 
man  after  his  family  estate,  but  he  was  more  generally  known 
through  the  country  round  by  the  name  of  Lauckie  Long  Legs, 
from  the  length  of  his  limbs.  While  Scott  was  giving  this 
account  of  him,  we  saw  him  at  a  distance  striding  along  one  of 
his  fields,  with  his  plaid  fluttering  about  him,  and  he  seemed  well 
to  deserve  his  appellation,  for  he  looked  all  legs  and  tartan. 

Lauckie  knew  nothing  of  the  world  beyond  his  neighborhood. 
Scott  told  me  that  on  returning  to  Abbotsford  from  his  visit  to 
France,  immediately  after  the  war,  he  was  called  on  by  his  neigh 
bors  generally,  to  inquire  after  foreign  parts.  Among  the  num- 


ABBOTSFORD.  237 


ber,  caine  Lauckie  Long  Legs  and  an  old  brother  as  ignorant  as 
himself.  They  had  many  inquiries  to  make  about  the  French, 
whom  they  seemed  to  consider  some  remote  and  semi-barbarous 
horde — "  And  what  like  are  thae  barbarians  in  their  own  coun 
try  ?"  said  Lauckie,  "  can  they  write  ? — can  they  cipher  ?"  He 
was  quite  astonished  to  learn  that  they  were  nearly  as  much 
advanced  in  civilization  as  the  gude  folks  of  Abbotsford. 

After  living  for  a  long  time  in  single  blessedness,  Lauckie  all 
at  once,  and  not  long  before  my  visit  to  the  neighborhood,  took 
it  into  his  head  to  get  married.  The  neighbors  were  all  sur 
prised  ;  but  the  family  connection,  who  were  as  proud  as  they 
were  poor,  were  grievously  scandalized,  for  they  thought  the 
young  woman  on  whom  he  had  set  his  mind  quite  beneath  him. 
It  was  in  vain,  however,  that  they  remonstrated  on  the  misalli 
ance  he  was  about  to  make :  he  was  not  to  be  swayed  from  his 
determination.  Arraying  himself  in  his  best,  and  saddling  a 
gaunt  steed  that  might  have  rivalled  Rosinante,  and  placing  a 
pillion  behind  his  saddle,  he  departed  to  wed  and  bring  home 
the  humble  lassie  who  was  to  be  made  mistress  of  the  venerable 
hovel  of  Lauckend,  and  who  lived  in  a  village  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  Tweed. 

A  small  event  of  the  kind  makes  a  great  stir  in  a  little  quiet 
country  neighborhood.  The  word  soon  circulated  through  the 
village  of  Melrose,  and  the  cottages  in  its  vicinity,  that  Lauckie 
Long  Legs  had  gone  over  the  Tweed  to  fetch  home  his  bride. 
All  the  good  folks  assembled  at  the  bridge  to  await  his  return. 
Lauckie,  however,  disappointed  them ;  for  he  crossed  the  river 
at  a  distant  ford,  and  conveyed  his  bride  safe  to  his  mansion, 
without  being  perceived. 

Let  me  step  forward  in  the  course  of  events,  and  relate  the 


238  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


fate  of  poor  Lauckie,  as  it  was  communicated  to  me  a  year  or 
two  afterwards  in  letter  by  Scott.  From  the  time  of  his  mar 
riage  he  had  no  longer  any  peace,  owing  to  the  constant  inter- 
meddlings  of  his  relations,  who  would  not  permit  him  to  be  happy 
in  his  own  way,  but  endeavored  to  set  him  at  variance  with  his 
wife.  Lauckie  refused  to  credit  any  of  their  stories  to  her  disad 
vantage  ;  but  the  incessant  warfare  he  had  to  wage,  in  defence  of 
her  good  name,  wore  out  both  flesh  and  spirit.  His  last  conflict 
was  with  his  own  brothers,  in  front  of  his  paternal  mansion.  A 
furious  scolding  match  took  place  between  them  ;  Lauckie  made 
a  vehement  profession  of  faith  in  favor  of  her  immaculate  honesty, 
and  then  fell  dead  at  the  threshold  of  his  own  door.  His  person, 
his  character,  his  name,  his  story,  and  his  fate,  entitled  him  to  be 
immortalized  in  one  of  Scott's  novels,  and  I  looked  to  recognize 
him  in  some  of  the  succeeding  works  from  his  pen ;  but  I  looked 
in  vain. 


After  passing  by  the  domains  of  honest  Lauckie,  Scott  pointed 
out,  at  a  distance,  the  Eildon  stone.  There  in  ancient  days  stood 
the  Eildon  tree,  beneath  which  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  according 
to  popular  tradition,  dealt  forth  his  prophecies,  some  of  which 
still  exist  in  antiquated  ballads. 

Here  we  turned  up  a  little  glen  with  a  small  burn  or  brook 
whimpering  and  dashing  along  it,  making  an  occasional  waterfall, 
and  overhung  in  some  places  with  mountain  ash  and  weeping 
birch.  We  are  now,  said  Scott,  treading  classic,  or  rather  fairy 
ground.  This  is  the  haunted  glen  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  where 
he  met  with  the  queen  of  fairy  land,  and  this  the  bogle  burn,  or 


ABBOTSFORD.  239 


goblin  brook,  along  which  she  rode  on  her  dapple-gray  palfrey, 
with  silver  bells  ringing  at  the  bridle. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  pausing,  "  is  Huntley  Bank,  on  which 
Thomas  the  Rhymer  lay  musing  and  sleeping  when  he  saw,  or 
dreamt  he  saw,  the  queen  of  Elfland  : 

"  True  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank ; 

A  ferlie  he  spied  wi'  his  e'e  ; 
And  there  he  saw  a  ladye  bright, 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon  tree. 

Her  skirt  was  o'  the  grass  green  silk, 

Her  mantle  o'  the  velvet  fyne  ; 
At  ilka  tett  of  her  horse's  mane 

Hung  fifty  siller  bells  and  nine." 

Here  Scott  repeated  several  of  the  stanzas  and  recounted  the  cir 
cumstance  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer's  interview  with  the  fairy, 
and  his  being  transported  by  her  to  fairy  land — 

"  And  til  seven  years  were  gone  and  past, 
True  Thomas  on  earth  was  never  seen." 

It  is  a  fine  old  story,  said  he,  and  might  be  wrought  up  into  a 
capital  tale. 

Scott  continued  on,  leading  the  way  as  usual,  and  limping 
up  the  wizard  glen,  talking  as  he  went,  but  as  his  back  was 
toward  me,  I  could  only  hear  the  deep  growling  tones  of  his 
voice,  like  the  low  breathing  of  an  organ,  without  distinguishing 
the  words,  until  pausing,  and  turning  his  face  towards  me,  I 
found  he  was  reciting  some  scrap  of  border  minstrelsy  about 
Thomas  the  Rhymer.  This  was  continually  the  case  in  my 


240  •  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


ramblings  with  him  about  this  storied  neighborhood.  His 
mind  was  fraught  with  the"  traditionary  fictions  connected 
with  every  object  around  him,  and  he  would  breathe  it  forth  as 
he  went,  apparently  as  much  for  his  own  gratification  as  for  that 
of  his  companion. 

"  Nor  hill,  nor  brook,  we  paced  along, 
'f        But  had  its  legend  or  its  song." 

His  voice  was  deep  and  sonorous,  he  spoke  with  a  Scottish  accent, 
and  with  somewhat  of  the  Northumbrian  "  burr,"  which,  to  my 
mind,  gave  a  doric  strength  and  simplicity  to  his  elocution.  His 
recitation  of  poetry  was.  at  times,  magnificent. 

I  think  it  was  in  the  course  of  this  ramble  that  my  friend 
Hamlet,  the  black  greyhound,  got  into  a  sad  scrape.  The  dogs 
were  beating  about  the  glens  and  fields  as  usual,  and  had  been 
for  some  time  out  of  sight,  when  we  heard  a  barking  at  some 
distance  to  the  left.  Shortly  after  we  saw  some  sheep  scamper 
ing  on  the  hills,  with  the  dogs  after  them.  Scott  applied  to  his 
lips  the  ivory  whistle,  always  hanging  at  his  button-hole,  and 
soon  called  in  the  culprits,  excepting  Hamlet.  Hastening  up  a 
bank  which  commanded  a  view  along  a  fold  or  hollow  of  the  hills, 
we  beheld  the  sable  prince  of  Denmark  standing  by  the  bleeding 
body  of  a  sheep.  The  carcass  was  still  warm,  the  throat  bore 
marks  of  the  fatal  grip,  and  Hamlet's  muzzle  was  stained  with 
blood.  Never  was  culprit  more  completely  caught  in  fia- 
grante  deliclu.  I  supposed  the  doom  of  poor  Hamlet  to  be 
sealed ;  for  no  higher  offence  can  be  committed  by  a  dog  in  a 
country  abounding  with  sheep  walks.  Scott,  however,  had  a 
greater  value  for  his  dogs  than  for  his  sheep.  They  were  his  com 
panions  and  friends.  Hamlet,  too,  though  an  irregular,  imperti- 


ABBOTSFORD.  241 


nent  kind  of  youngster,  was  evidently  a  favorite.  He  would  not 
for  some  time  believe  it  could  be  he  who  had  killed  the  sheep. 
It  must  have  been  some  cur  of  the  neighborhood,  that  had  made 
off  on  our  approach,  and  left  poor  Hamlet  in  the  lurch.  Proofs, 
however,  were  too  strong,  and  Hamlet  was  generally  condemned. 
"Well,  well,"  said  Scott,  "it's  partly  my  own  fault.  I  have 
given  up  coursing  for  some  time  past,  and  the  poor  dog  has  had 
no  chance  after  game  to  take  the  fire  edge  off  of  him.  If  he  was 
put  after  a  hare  occasionally  he  never  would  meddle  with  sheep." 
I  understood,  afterwards,  that  Scott  actually  got  a  pony,  and 
went  out  now  and  then  coursing  with  Hamlet,  who,  in  conse 
quence,  showed  no  further  inclination  for  mutton. 


A  further  stroll  among  the  hills  brought  us  to  what  Scott 
pronounced  the  remains  of  a  Roman  camp,  and  as  we  sat  upon  a 
hillock  which  had  once  formed  a  part  of  the  ramparts,  he  pointed 
out  the  traces  of  the  lines  and  bulwarks,  and  the  prsetorium,  and 
showed  a  knowledge  of  castramatation  that  would  not  have  dis 
graced  the  antiquarian  Oldbuck  himself.  Indeed,  various  cir 
cumstances  that  I  observed  about  Scott  during  my  visit,  con 
curred  to  persuade  me  that  many  of  the  antiquarian  humors  of 
Monkbarns  were  taken  from  his  own  richly  compounded  charac 
ter,  and  that  some  of  the  scenes  and  personages  of  that  admirable 
novel  were  furnished  by  his  immediate  neighborhood. 

He  gave  me  several  anecdotes  of  a  noted  pauper  named 
Andrew  Gemmells,  or  Gammel,  as  it  was  pronounced,  who  had 
once  flourished  on  the  banks  of  Galla  Water,  immediately  oppo 
site  Abbotsford,  and  whom  he  had  seen  and  talked  and  joked 

11 


242  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


with  when  a  boy  ;  and  I  instantly  recognized  the  likeness  of  that 
mirror  of  philosophic  vagabonds  and  Nestor  of  beggars,  Edie 
Ochiltree.  I  was  on  the  point  of  pronouncing  the  name  and 
recognizing  the  portrait,  when  I  recollected  the  incognito  observed 
by  Scott  with  respect  to  novels,  and  checked  myself;  but  it  was 
one  among  many  things  that  tended  to  convince  me  of  his 
authorship. 

His  picture  of  Andrew  Gremmells  exactly  accorded  with  that 
of  Edie  as  to  his  height,  carriage,  and  soldier-like  air,  as  well  as 
his  arch  and  sarcastic  humor.  His  home,  if  home  he  had,  was 
at  Gallashiels  ;  but  he  went  "  daundering  "  about  the  country, 
along  the  green  shaws  and  beside  the  burns,  and  was  a  kind  of 
walking  chronicle  throughout  the  valleys  of  the  Tweed,  the 
Ettrick,  and  the  Yarrow  ;  carrying  the  gossip  from  house  to 
house,  commenting  on  the  inhabitants  and  their  concerns,  and 
never  hesitating  to  give  them  a  dry  rub  as  to  any  of  their  faults 
or  follies. 

A  shrewd  beggar  like  Andrew  Gemmells,  Scott  added,  who 
could  sing  the  old  Scotch  airs,  tell  stories  and  traditions,  and 
gossip  away  the  long  winter  evenings,  was  by  no  means  an  unwel 
come  visitor  at  a  lonely  manse  or  cottage.  The  children  would 
run  to  welcome  him,  and  place  his  stool  in  a  warm  corner  of  the 
ingle  nook,  and  the  old  folks  would  receive  him  as  a  privileged 
guest. 

As  to  Andrew,  he  looked  upon  them  all  as  a  parson  does  upon 
his  parishioners,  and  considered  the  alms  he  received  as  much  his 
due  as  the  other  does  his  tithes.  I  rather  think,  added  Scott, 
Andrew  considered  himself  more  of  a  gentleman  than  those  who 
toiled  for  a  living,  and  that  he  secretly  looked  down  upon  the 
painstaking  peasants  that  fed  and  sheltered  him. 


ABBOTSFORD.  243 


He  had  derived  his  aristocratical  notions  in  some  degree  from 
being  admitted  occasionally  to  a  precarious  sociability  with  some 
of  the  small  country  gentry,  who  were  sometimes  in  want  of 
company  to  help  while  away  the  time.  With  these  Andrew 
would  now  and  then  play  at  cards  and  dice,  and  he  never  lacked 
"  siller  in  pouch  "  to  stake  on  a  game,  which  he  did  with  a  perfect 
air  of  a  man  to  whom  money  was  a  matter  of  little  moment,  and 
no  one  could  lose  his  money  with  more  gentlemanlike  coolness. 

Among  those  who  occasionally  admitted  him  to  this  familiarity, 
was  old  John  Scott  of  G-alla,  a  man  of  family,  who  inhabited  his 
paternal  mansion  of  Torwoodlee.  Some  distinction  of  rank, 
however,  was  still  kept  up.  The  laird  sat  on  the  inside  of  the 
window  and  the  beggar  on  the  outside,  and  they  played  cards  on 
the  sill. 

Andrew  now  and  then  told  the  laird  a  piece  of  his  mind  very 
freely ;  especially  on  one  occasion,  when  he  had  sold  some  of  his 
paternal  lands  to  build  himself  a  larger  house  with  the  proceeds. 
The  speech  of  honest  Andrew  smacks  of  the  shrewdness  of  Edie 
Ochiltree. 

"  It's  a'  varra  weel — it's  a'  varra  weel,  Torwoodlee,"  said  he  ; 
"  but  who  would  ha'  thought  that  your  father's  son  would  ha'  sold 
two  gude  estates  to  build  a  shaw's  (cuckoo's)  nest  on  the  side  of 
a  hill?" 


That  day  there  was  an  arrival  at  Abbotsford  of  two  English 
tourists  ;  one  a  gentleman  of  fortune  and  landed  estate,  the  other 
a  young  clergyman  whom  he  appeared  to  have  under  his  patron 
age,  and  to  have  brought  with  him  as  a  travelling  companion. 


244  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


The  patron  was  one  of  those  well-bred,  commonplace  gentle 
men  with  which  England  is  overrun.  He  had  great  deference  for 
Scott,  and  endeavored  to  acquit  himself  learnedly  in  his  com 
pany,  aiming  continually  at  abstract  disquisitions,  for  which  Scott 
had  little  relish.  The  conversation  of  the  latter,  as  usual,  was 
studded  with  anecdotes  and  stories,  some  of  them  of  great  pith 
and  humor :  the  well-bred  gentleman  was  either  too  dull  to  feel 
their  point,  or  too  decorous  to  indulge  in  hearty  merriment ;  the 
honest  parson,  on  the  contrary,  who  was  not  too  refined  to  be 
happy,  laughed  loud  and  long  at  every  joke,  and  enjoyed  them 
with  the  zest  of  a  man  who  has  more  merriment  in  his  heart  than 
coin  in  his  pocket. 

After  they  were  gone,  some  comments  were  made  upon  their 
different  deportments.  Scott  spoke  very  respectfully  of  the  good 
breeding  and  measured  manners  of  the  man  of  wealth,  but  with 
a  kindlier  feeling  of  the  honest  parson,  and  the  homely  but 
hearty  enjoyment  with  which  he  relished  every  pleasantry.  "  I 
doubt,"  said  he,  "  whether  the  parson's  lot  in  life  is  not  the  best ; 
if  he  cannot  command  as  many  of  the  good  things  of  this  world 
by  his  own  purse  as  his  patron  can,  he  beats  him  all  hollow  in 
his  enjoyment  of  them  when  set  before  him  by  others.  Upon  the 
whole,"  added  he,  "  I  rather  think  I  prefer  the  honest  parson's 
good  humor  to  his  patron's  good  breeding  ;  I  have  a  great  regard 
for  a  hearty  laugher." 

He  went  on  to  speak  of  the  great  influx  of  English  travel 
lers,  which  of  late  years  had  inundated  Scotland ;  and  doubted 
whether  they  had  not  injured  the  old-fashioned  Scottish  charac 
ter.  "  Formerly,  they  came  here  occasionally  as  sportsmen,"  said 
he,  "  to  shoot  moor  game,  without  any  idea  of  looking  at  scenery ; 
and  they  moved  about  the  country  in  hardy  simple  style,  coping 


ABBOTSFORD.  245 


with  the  country  people  in  their  own  way ;  but  now  they  come 
rolling  about  in  their  equipages,  to  see  ruins,  and  spend  money, 
and  their  lavish  extravagance  has  played  the  vengeance  with  the 
common  people.  It  has  made  them  rapacious  in  their  dealings 
with  strangers,  greedy  after  money,  and  extortionate  in  their  de 
mands  for  the  most  trivial  services.  Formerly,"  continued  he, 
"  the  poorer  classes  of  our  people  were,  comparatively,  disinter 
ested  ;  they  offered  their  services  gratuitously,  in  promoting  the 
amusement,  or  aiding  the  curiosity  of  strangers,  and  were  grati 
fied  by  the  smallest  compensation  :  but  now  they  make  a  trade  of 
showing  rocks  and  ruins,  and  are  as  greedy  as  Italian  cicerones". 
They  look  upon  the  English  as  so  many  walking  money-bags  ;  the 
more  they  are  shaken  and  poked,  the  more  they  will  leave  behind 
them." 

I  told  him  that  he  had  a  great  deal  to  answer  for  on  that  head, 
since  it  was  the  romantic  associations  he  had  thrown  by  his  writ 
ings  over  so  many  out  of  the  way  places  in  Scotland,  that  had 
brought  in  the  influx  of  curious  travellers. 

Scott  laughed,  and  said  he  believed  I  might  be  in  some  mea 
sure  in  the  right,  as  he  recollected  a  circumstance  in  point.  Being 
one  time  at  Glenross,  an  old  woman  who  kept  a  small  inn,  which 
had  but  little  custom,  was  uncommonly  officious  in  her  attend 
ance  upon  him,  and  absolutely  incommoded  him  with  her  civili 
ties.  The  secret  at  length  came  out.  As  he  was  about  to  depart, 
she  addressed  him  with  many  curtsies,  and  said  she  understood 
he  was  the  gentleman  that  had  written  a  bonnie  book  about  Loch 
Katrine.  She  begged  him  to  write  a  little  about  their  lake  also, 
for  she  understood  his  book  had  done  the  inn  at  Loch  Katrine  a 
muckle  deal  of  good. 


246  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


On  the  following  day,  I  made  an  excursion  with  Scott  and 
the  young  ladies,  to  Dryburgh  Abbey.  We  went  in  an  open 
carriage,  drawn  by  two  sleek  old  black  horses,  for  which  Scott 
seemed  to  have  an  affection,  as  he  had  for  every  dumb  animal  that 
belonged  to  him.  Our  road  lay  through  a  variety  of  scenes,  rich 
in  poetical  and  historical  associations,  about  most  of  which  Scott 
had  something  to  relate.  In  one  part  of  the  drive,  he  pointed  to 
an  old  border  keep,  or  fortress,  on  the  summit  of  a  naked  hill, 
several  miles  off,  which  he  called  Smallholm  Tower,  and  a  rocky 
knoll  on  which  it  stood,  the  "  Sandy  Knowe  crags."  It  was  a 
place,  he  said,  peculiarly  dear  to  him,  from  the  recollections  of 
childhood.  His  grandfather  had  lived  there  in  the  old  Smallholm 
Grange,  or  farmhouse  :  and  he  had  been  sent  there,  when  but 
two  years  old,  on  account  of  his  lameness,  that  he  might  have  the 
benefit  of  the  pure  air  of  the  hills,  and  be  under  the  care  of  his 
grandmother  and  aunts. 

In  the  introduction  of  one  of  the  cantos  of  Marmion,  he  has 
depicted  his  grandfather,  and  the  fireside  of  the  farm-house ; 
and  has  given  an  amusing  picture  of  himself  in  his  boyish 
years. 

"  Still  with  vain  fondness  could  I  trace 
Anew  each  kind  familiar  face, 
That  brightened  at  our  evening  fire  ; 
From  the  thatched  mansion's  gray-haired  sire, 
Wise  without  learning,  plain  and  good, 
And  sprung  of  Scotland's  gentler  blood  ; 
Whose  eye  in  age,  quick,  clear  and  keen, 
Showed  what  in  youth  its  glance  had  been ; 
Whose  doom  discording  neighbors  sought, 
Content  with  equity  unbought ; 


ABBOTSFORD.  247 


To  him  the  venerable  priest, 
Our  frequent  and  familiar  guest, 
Whose  life  and  manners  well  could  paint 
Alike  the  student  and  the  saint ; 
Alas !  whose  speech  too  oft  I  broke 
With  gambol  rude  and  timeless  joke  ; 
For  I  was  wayward,  bold,  and  wild, 
A  self-willed  imp,  a  grandame  s  child  ; 
But  half  a  plague,  and  half  a  jest, 
Was  still  endured,  beloved,  carest." 

It  was,  he  said,  during  his  residence  at  Smallholm  crags,  that 
he  first  imbibed  his  passion  for  legendary  tales,  border  tradi 
tions,  and  old  national  songs  and  ballads.  His  grandmother  and 
aunts  were  well  versed  in  that  kind  of  lore,  so  current  in  Scot 
tish  country  life.  They  used  to  recount  them  in  long,  gloomy, 
winter  days,  and  about  the  ingle  nook  at  night,  in  conclave  with 
their  gossip  visitors  ;  and  little  Walter  would  sit  and  listen  with 
greedy  ear ;  thus  taking  into  his  infant  mind  the  seeds  of  many 
a  splendid  fiction. 

There  was  an  old  shepherd,  he  said,  in  the  service  of  the 
family,  who  used  to  sit  under  the  sunny  wall,  and  tell  marvellous 
stories,  and  recite  old  time  ballads,  as  he  knitted  stockings. 
Scott  used  to  be  wheeled  out  in  his  chair,  in  fine  weather,  and 
would  sit  beside  the  old  man,  and  listen  to  him  for  hours. 

The  situation  of  Sandy  Knowe  was  favorable  both  for  story 
teller  and  listener.  It  commanded  a  wide  view  over  all  the  bor 
der  country,  with  its  feudal  towers,  its  haunted  glens,  and  wizard 
streams.  As  the  old  shepherd  told  his  tales,  he  could  point  out 
the  very  scene  of  action.  Thus,  before  Scott  could  walk,  he  was 
made  familiar  with  the  scenes  of  his  future  stories  ;  they  were  all 


248  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


seen  as  through  a  magic  medium,  and  took  that  tinge  of  romance, 
which  they  ever  after  retained  in  his  imagination.  From  the 
height  of  Sandy  Knowe,  he  may  be  said  to  have  had  the  first 
look-out  upon  the  promised  land  of  his  future  glory. 

On  referring  to  Scott's  works,  I  find  many  of  the  circum 
stances  related  in  this  conversation,  about  the  old  tower,  and  the 
boyish  scenes  connected  with  it,  recorded  in  the  introduction  to 
Marmion,  already  cited.  This  was  frequently  the  case  with 
Scott ;  incidents  and  feelings  that  had  appeared  in  his  writings, 
were  apt  to  be  mingled  up  in  his  conversation,  for  they  had  been 
taken  from  what  he  had  witnessed  and  felt  in  real  life,  and 
were  connected  with  those  scenes  among  which  he  lived,  and 
moved,  and  had  his  being.  I  make  no  scruple  at  quoting  the 
passage  relative  to  the  tower,  though  it  repeats  much  of  the  fore 
gone  imagery,  and  with  vastly  superior  effect. 

"  Thus,  while  I  ape  the  measure  wild 
Of  tales  that  charmed  me  yet  a  child, 
Rude  though  they  be,  still  with  the  chime 
Return  the  thoughts  of  early  time  ; 
And  feelings  roused  in  life's  first  day, 
Glow  in  the  line,  and  prompt  the  lay. 
Then  rise  those  crags,  that  mountain  tower, 
Which  charmed  my  fancy's  wakening  hour, 
Though  no  broad  river  swept  along 
To  claim  perchance  heroic  song  ; 
Though  sighed  no  groves  in  summer  gale 
To  prompt  of  love  a  softer  tale  ; 
Though  scarce  a  puny  streamlet's  speed 
Claimed  homage  from  a  shepherd's  reed  ; 
Yet  was  poetic  impulse  given, 
By  the  green  hill  and  clear  blue  heaven. 


ABBOTSFORD.  249 


It  was  a  barren  scene,  and  wild, 

Where  naked  cliffs  were  rudely  piled  ; 

But  ever  and  anon  between 

Lay  velvet  tufts  of  loveliest  green  ; 

And  well  the  lonely  infant  knew 

Recesses  where  the  wall-flower  grew, 

And  honey-suckle  loved  to  crawl 

Up  the  low  crag  and  ruined  wall. 

I  deemed  such  nooks  the  sweetest  shade 

The  sun  in  all  his  round  surveyed  ; 

And  still  I  thought  that  shattered  tower 

The  mightiest  work  of  human  power  ; 

And  marvelled  as  the  aged  hind 

With  some  strange  tale  bewitched  my  mind, 

Of  foray«rs,  who,  with  headlong  force, 

Down  from  that  strength  had  spurred  their  horse, 

Their  southern  rapine  to  renew, 

Far  in  the  distant  Cheviot's  blue, 

And,  home  returning,  filled  the  hall 

With  revel,  wassail-rout,  and  brawl — 

Methought  that  still  with  tramp  and  clang 

The  gate-way's  broken  arches  rang  ; 

Methought  grim  features,  seamed  with  scars, 

Glared  through  the  window's  rusty  bars. 

And  ever  by  the  winter  hearth, 

Old  tales  I  heard  of  woe  or  mirth, 

Of  lovers'  slights,  of  ladies'  charms, 

Of  witches'  spells,  of  warriors'  arms  ; 

Of  patriot  battles,  won  of  old, 

By  Wallace  wight  and  Bruce  the  bold  ; 

Of  later  fields  of  feud  and  fight, 

When  pouring  from  the  Highland  height, 

The  Scottish  clans,  in  headlong  sway, 

Had  swept  the  scarlet  ranks  away. 


250  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


While  stretched  at  length  upon  the  floor, 
Again  I  fought  each  combat  o'er, 
Pebbles  and  shells,  in  order  laid, 
The  mimic  ranks  of  war  displayed  ; 
And  onward  still  the  Scottish  Lion  bore, 
And  still  the  scattered  Southron  fled  before." 

Scott  eyed  the  distant  height  of  Sandy  Knowe  with  an  earnest 
gaze  as  we  rode  along,  and  said  he  had  often  thought  of  buying 
the  place,  repairing  the  old  tower,  and  making  it  his  residence. 
He  has  in  some  measure,  however,  paid  off  his  early  debt  of 
gratitude,  in  clothing  it  with  poetic  and  romantic  associations, 
by  his  tale  of  "  The  Eve  of  St.  John."  It  is  to  be  hoped  that 
those  who  actually  possess  so  interesting  a  monument  of  Scott's 
early  days,  will  preserve  it  from  further  dilapidation. 

Not  far  from  Sandy  Knowe,  Scott  pointed  out  another  old 
border  hold,  standing  on  the  summit  of  a  hill,  which  had  been  a 
kind  of  enchanted  castle  to  him  in  his  boyhood.  It  was  the 
tower  of  Bemerside,  the  baronial  residence  of  the  Haigs,  or  De 
Hagas,  one  of  the  oldest  families  of  the  border.  "  There  had 
seemed  to  him,"  he  said,  "  almost  a  wizard  spell  hanging  over  it, 
in  consequence  of  a  prophecy  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  in  which, 
in  his  young  days,  he  most  potently  believed  :" 

"  Betide,  betide,  whate'er  betide, 
Haig  shall  be  Haig  of  Bemerside." 

Scott  added  some  particulars  which  showed  that,  in  the 
present  instance,  the  venerable  Thomas  had  not  proved  a  false 
prophet,  for  it  was  a  noted  fact,  that,  amid  all  the  changes  and 
chances  of  the  border ;  through  all  the  feuds,  and  forays,  and 


ABBOTSFORD.  251 


sackings,  and  burnings,  which  had  reduced  most  of  the  castles  to 
ruins,  and  the  proud  families  that  once  possessed  them  to  poverty, 
the  tower  of  Bemerside  still  remained  unscathed,  and  was  still 
the  strong-hold  of  the  ancient  family  of  Haig. 

Prophecies,  however,  often  insure  their  own  fulfilment.  It 
is  very  probable  that  the  prediction  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer  has 
linked  the  Haigs  to  their  tower,  as  their  rock  of  safety,  and  has 
induced  them  to  cling  to  it,  almost  superstitiously,  through  hard 
ships  and  inconveniences  that  would,  otherwise,  have  caused  its 
abandonment. 

I  afterwards  saw,  at  Dryburgh  Abbey,  the  burying  place  of 
this  predestinated  and  tenacious  family,  the  inscription  of  which 
showed  the  value  they  set  upon  their  antiquity : — 

"  Locus  Sepulturae, 
Antiquessimae  Families 

De  Haga 
De  Bemerside. 

In  reverting  to  the  days  of  his  childhood,  Scott  observed  that 
the  lameness  which  had  disabled  him  in  infancy  gradually  de 
creased  ;  he  soon  acquired  strength  in  his  limbs,  and  though  he 
always  limped,  he  became,  even  in  boyhood,  a  great  walker.  He 
used  frequently  to  stroll  from  home  and  wander  about  the  coun 
try  for  days  together,  picking  up  all  kinds  of  local  gossip,  and 
observing  popular  scenes  and  characters.  His  father  used  to  be 
vexed  with  him  for  this  wandering  propensity,  and,  shaking  his 
head,  would  say  he  fancied  the  boy  would  make  nothing  but  a 
pedler.  As  he  grew  older,  he  became  a  keen  sportsman,  and 
passed  much  of  his  time  hunting  and  shooting.  His  field  sports 
led  him  into  the  most  wild  and  unfrequented  parts  of  the  coun- 


252  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


try,  and  in  this  way  he  picked  up  much  of  that  local  knowledge 
which  he  has  since  evinced  in  his  writings. 

His  first  visit  to  Loch  Katrine,  he  said,  was  in  his  boyish 
days,  on  a  shooting  excursion.  The  island,  which  he  has  made 
the  romantic  residence  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  was  then  garri 
soned  by  an  old  man  and  his  wife.  Their  house  was  vacant : 
they  had  put  the  key  under  the  door,  and  were  absent  fishing. 
It  was  at  that  time  a  peaceful  residence,  but  became  afterwards  a 
resort  of  smugglers,  until  they  were  ferreted  out. 

In  after  years,  when  Scott  began  to  turn  this  local  knowledge 
to  literary  account,  he  revisited  many  of  those  scenes  of  his  early 
ramblings,  and  endeavored  to  secure  the  fugitive  remains  of  the 
traditions  and  songs  that  had  charmed  his  boyhood.  When  col 
lecting  materials  for  his  Border  Minstrelsy,  he  used,  he  said,  to 
go  from  cottage  to  cottage  and  make  the  old  wives  repeat  all  they 
knew,  if  but  two  lines ;  and  by  putting  these  scraps  together, 
he  retrieved  many  a  fine  characteristic  old  ballad-  or  tradition 
from  oblivion. 

I  regret  to  say  that  I  can  recollect  scarce  any  thing  of  our 
visit  to  Dryburgh  Abbey.  It  is  on  the  estate  of  the  Earl  of 
Buchan.  The  religious  edifice  is  a  mere  ruin,  rich  in  Gothic  an 
tiquities,  but  especially  interesting  to  Scott,  from  containing  the 
family  vault,  and  the  tombs  and  monuments  of  his  ancestors. 
He  appeared  to  feel  much  chagrin  at  their  being  in  the  possession, 
and  subject  to  the  intermeddlings  of  the  Earl,  who  was  repre 
sented  as  a  nobleman  of  an  eccentric  character.  The  latter, 
however,  set  great  value  on  these  sepulchral  relics,  and  had 
expressed  a  lively  anticipation  of  one  day  or  other  having  the 
honor  of  burying  Scott,  and  adding  his  monument  to  the  collec 
tion,  which  he  intended  should  be  worthy  of  the  «  mighty  min- 


ABBOTSFORD.  253 


strel  of  the  north," — a  prospective  compliment  which  was  by  no 
means  relished  by  the  object  of  it. 


One  of  my  pleasant  rambles  with  Scott,  about  the  neighbor 
hood  of  Abbotsford,  was  taken  in  company  with  Mr.  William 
Laidlaw,  the  steward  of  his  estate.  This  was  a  gentleman  for 
whom  Scott  entertained  a  particular  value.  He  had  been  born 
to  a  competency,  had  been  well  educated,  his  mind  was  richly 
stored  with  varied  information,  and  he  was  a  man  of  sterling 
moral  worth.  Having  been  reduced  by  misfortune,  Scott  had  got 
him  to  take  charge  of  his  estate.  He  lived  at  a  small  farm  on 
the  hill-side  above  Abbotsford,  and  was  treated  by  Scott  as  a 
cherished  and  confidential  friend,  rather  than  a  dependent. 

As  the  day  was  showery,  Scott  was  attended  by  one  of  his 
retainers,  named  Tommie  Purdie,  who  carried  his  plaid,  and  who 
deserves  especial  mention.  Sophia  Scott  used  to  call  him  her 
father's  grand  vizier,  and  she  gave  a  playful  account  one  evening, 
as  she  was  hanging  on  her  father's  arm,  of  the  consultations  which 
he  and  Tommie  used  to  have  about  matters  relative  to  farming. 
Purdie  was  tenacious  of  his  opinions,  and  he  and  Scott  would 
have  long  disputes  in  front  of  the  house,  as  to  something  that 
was  to  be  done  on  the  estate,  until  the  latter,  fairly  tired  out, 
would  abandon  the  ground  and  the  argument,  exclaiming,  "  Well, 
well,  Tom,  have  it  your  own  way." 

After  a  time,  however,  Purdie  would  present  himself  at  the 
door  of  the  parlor,  and  observe,  "  I  ha'  been  thinking  over  the 
matter,  and  upon  the  whole,  I  think  I'll  take  your  honor's  ad 
vice." 


254  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


Scott  laughed  heartily  when  this  anecdote  was  told  of  him. 
"  It  was  with  him  and  Tom,"  he  said,  "  as  it  was  with  an  old 
laird  and  a  pet  servant,  whom  he  had  indulged  until  he  was  posi 
tive  beyond  all  endurance.  '  This  won't  do  !'  cried  the  old  laird, 
in  a  passion,  '  we  can't  live  together  any  longer — we  must  part.' 
"  An'  where  the  deil  does  your  honor  mean  to  go  ?'  replied  the 
other. 

I  would,  moreover,  observe  of  Tom  Purdie,  that  he  was  a  firm 
believer  in  ghosts,  and  warlocks,  and  all  kinds  of  old  wives'  fable. 
He  was  a  religious  man,  too,  mingling  a  little  degree  of  Scottish 
pride  in  his  devotion ;  for  though  his  salary  was  but  twenty 
pounds  a  year,  he  had  managed  to  afford  seven  pounds  for  a 
family  Bible.  It  is  true,  he  had  one  hundred  pounds  clear  of  the 
world,  and  was  looked  up  to  by  his  comrades  as  a  man  of  pro 
perty. 

In  the  course  of  our  morning's  walk,  we  stopped  at  a  small 
house  belonging  to  one  of  the  laborers  on  the  estate.  The  object 
of  Scott's  visit  was  to  inspect  a  relic  which  had  been  digged  up 
in  the  Roman  camp,  and  which,  if  I  recollect  right,  he  pro 
nounced  to  have  been  a  tongs.  It  was  produced  by  the  cottager's 
wife,  a  ruddy,  healthy-looking  dame,  whom  Scott  addressed  by 
the  name  of  Ailie.  As  he  stood  regarding  the  relic,  turning  it 
round  and  round,  and  making  comments  upon  it,  half  grave,  half 
comic,  with  the  cottage  group  around  him,  all  joining  occasion 
ally  in  the  colloquy,  the  inimitable  character  of  Monkbarns  was 
again  brought  to  mind,  and  I  seemed  to  see  before  me  that  prince 
of  antiquarians  and  humorists  holding  forth  to  his  unlearned 
and  unbelieving  neighbors. 

Whenever  Scott  touched,  in  this  way,  upon  local  antiquities, 
and  in  all  his  familiar  conversations  about  local  traditions  and 


ABBOTSFORD.  255 


superstitions,  there  was  always  a  sly  and  quiet  humor  running  at 
the  bottom  of  his  discourse,  and  playing  about  his  countenance, 
as  if  he  sported  with  the  subject.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  he  dis 
trusted  his  own  enthusiasm,  and  was  disposed  to  droll  upon  his 
own  humors  and  peculiarities,  yet.  at  the  same  time,  a  poetic 
gleam  in  his  eye  would  show  that  he  really  took  a  strong  relish 
and  interest  in  them.  "  It  was  a  pity,"  he  said,  "  that  anti 
quarians  were  generally  so  dry,  for  the  subjects  they  handled 
were  rich  in  historical  and  poetic  recollections,  in  picturesque 
details,  in  quaint  and  heroic  characteristics,  and  in  all  kinds  of 
curious  and  obsolete  ceremonials.  They  are  always  groping 
among  the  rarest  materials  for  poetry,  but  they  have  no  idea  of 
turning  them  to  poetic  use.  Now  every  fragment  from  old  times 
has,  in  some  degree,  its  story  with  it,  or  gives  an  inkling  of  some 
thing  characteristic  of  the  circumstances  and  manners  of  its 
day,  and  so  sets  the  imagination  at  work." 

For  my  own  part  I  never  met  with  antiquarian  so  delightful, 
either  in  his  writings  or  his  conversation ;  and  the  quiet  subacid 
humor  that  was  prone  to  mingle  in  his  disquisitions,  gave  them, 
to  me,  a  peculiar  and  an  exquisite  flavor.  But  he  seemed,  in 
fact,  to  undervalue  every  thing  that  concerned  himself.  The 
play  of  his  genius  was  so  easy  that  he  was  unconscious  of  its 
mighty  power,  and  made  light  of  those  sports  of  intellect  that 
shamed  the  efforts  and  labors  of  other  minds. 

Our  ramble  this  morning  took  us  again  up  the  Rhymer's 
Glen,  and  by  Huntley  Bank,  and  Huntley  Wood,  and  the  silver 
waterfall  overhung  with  weeping  birches  and  mountain  ashes, 
those  delicate  and  beautiful  trees  which  grace  the  green  shaws 
and  burnsides  of  Scotland.  The  heather,  too,  that  closely  woven 
robe  of  Scottish  landscape  which  covers  the  nakedness  of  its 


256  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


hills  and  mountains,  tinted  the  neighborhood  with  soft  and  rich 
colors.  As  we  ascended  the  glen,  the  prospects  opened  upon  us  ; 
Melrose,  with  its  towers  and  pinnacles,  lay  below ;  beyond  was 
the  Eildon  hills,  the  Cowden  Knowes,  the  Tweed,  the  Galla 
Water,  and  all  the  storied  vicinity ;  the  whole  landscape  varied 
by  gleams  of  sunshine  and  driving  showers. 

Scott,  as  usual,  took  the  lead,  limping  along  with  great  activ 
ity,  and  in  joyous  mood,  giving  scraps  of  border  rhymes  and 
border  stories  ;  two  or  three  times  in  the  course  of  our  walk 
there  were  drizzling  showers,  which  I  supposed  would  put  an  end 
to  our  ramble,  but  my  companions  trudged  on  as  unconcernedly 
as  if  it  had  been  fine  weather. 

At  length,  I  asked  whether  we  had  not  better  seek  some 
shelter.  "  True,"  said  Scott,  "  I  did  not  recollect  that  you  were 
not  accustomed  to  our  Scottish  mists.  This  is  a  lachrymose 
climate,  evermore  showering.  We,  however,  are  children  of  the 
mist,  and  must  not  mind  a  little  whimpering  of  the  clouds  any 
more  than  a  man  must  mind  the  weeping  of  an  hysterical  wife. 
As  you  are  not  accustomed  to  be  wet  through,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  in  a  morning's  walk,  we  will  bide  a  bit  under  the  lee  of 
this  bank  until  the  shower  is  over."  Taking  his  seat  under 
shelter  of  a  thicket,  he  called  to  his  man  George  for  his  tartan, 
then  turning  to  me,  "  come,"  said  he,  "  come  under  my  plaidy, 
as  the  old  song  goes  j"  so,  making  me  nestle  down  beside  him,  he 
wrapped  a  part  of  the  plaid  round  me,  and  took  me,  as  he  said, 
under  his  wing. 

While  we  were  thus  nestled  together,  he  pointed  to  a  hole  in 
the  opposite  bank  of  the  glen.  That,  he  said,  was  the  hole  of 
an  old  gray  badger,  who  was,  doubtless,  snugly  housed  in  this 
bad  weather.  Sometimes  he  saw  him  at  the  entrance  of  his  hole, 


ABBOTSFORD.  257 


like  a  hermit  at  the  door  of  his  cell,  telling  his  beads,  or  reading 
a  homily.  He  had  a  great  respect  for  the  venerable  anchorite, 
and  would  not  suffer  him  to  be  disturbed.  He  was  a  kind  of 
successor  to  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  and  perhaps  might  be  Thomas 
himself  returned  from  fairy  land,  but  still  under  fairy  spell. 

Some  accident  turned  the  conversation  upon  Hogg,  the  poet, 
in  which  Laidlaw,  who  was  seated  beside  us,  took  a  part.  Hogg 
had  once  been  a  shepherd  in  the  service  of  his  father,  and  Laid 
law  gave  many  interesting  anecdotes  of  him,  of  which  I  now 
retain  no  recollection.  They  used  to  tend  the  sheep  together 
when  Laidlaw  was  a  boy,  and  Hogg  would  recite  the  first  strug 
gling  conceptions  of  his  muse.  At  night  when  Laidlaw  was 
quartered  comfortably  in  bed,  in  the  farmhouse,  poor  Hogg 
would  take  to  the  shepherd's  hut,  in  the  field  on  the  hillside, 
and  there  lie  awake  for  hours  together,  and  look  at  the  stars 
and  make  poetry,  which  he  would  repeat  the  next  day  to  his 
companion. 

Scott  spoke  in  warm  terms  of  Hogg,  and  repeated  passages 
from  his  beautiful  poem  of  Kelmeny,  to  which  he  gave  great  and 
well-merited  praise.  He  gave,  also,  some  amusing  anecdotes  of 
Hogg  and  his  publisher,  Blackwood,  who  was  at  that  time  just 
rising  into  the  bibliographical  importance  which  he  has  since 
enjoyed. 

Hogg  in  one  of  his  poems,  I  believe  the  Pilgrims  of  the  Sun, 
had  dabbled  a  little  in  metaphysics,  and  like  his  heroes,  had  got 
into  the  clouds.  Blackwood,  who  began  to  affect  criticism,  argued 
stoutly  with  him  as  to  the  necessity  of  omitting  or  elucidating 
some  obscure  passage.  Hogg  was  immovable. 

"  But,  man,"  said  Blackwood,  "  I  dinna  ken  what  ye  mean  in 
this  passage."  "  Hout  tout,  man,"  replied  Hogg,  impatiently, 


258  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


"I  dinna  ken  always  what  I  mean  mysel."  There  is  many  a 
metaphysical  poet  in  the  same  predicament  with  honest  Hogg. 

Scott  promised  to  invite  the  Shepherd  to  Abbotsford  during 
my  visit,  and  I  anticipated  much  gratification  in  meeting  with 
him,  from  the  account  I  had  received  of  his  character  and  man 
ners,  and  the  great  pleasure  I  had  derived  from  his  works. 
Circumstances,  however,  prevented  Scott  from  performing  his 
promise ;  and  to  my  great  regret  I  left  Scotland  without  seeing 
one  of  its  most  original  and  national  characters. 

When  the  weather  held  up,  we  continued  our  walk  until  we 
came  to  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water,  in  the  bosom  of  the  mountain, 
called,  if  I  recollect  right,  the  lake  of  Cauldshiel.  Scott  prided 
himself  much  upon  this  little  Mediterranean  sea  in  his  dominions, 
and  hoped  I  was  not  too  much  spoiled  by  our  great  lakes  in  Ame 
rica  to  relish  it.  He  proposed  to  take  me  out  to  the  centre  of  it, 
to  a  fine  point  of  view  :  for  which  purpose  we  embarked  in  a  small 
boat,  which  had  been  put  on  the  lake  by  his  neighbor,  Lord 
Somerville.  As  I  was  about  to  step  on  board,  I  observed  •  in 
large  letters  on  one  of  the  benches,  "  Search  No.  2."  I  paused 
for  a  moment  and  repeated  the  inscription  aloud,  trying  to  recol 
lect  something  I  had  heard  or  read  to  which  it  alluded.  "  Pshaw," 
cried  Scott,  "  it  is  only  some  of  Lord  Somerville's  nonsense — 
get  in  !"  In  an  instant  scenes  in  the  Antiquary  connected  with 
"Search  No.  1,"  flashed  upon  my  mind.  "Ah!  I  remember 
now,"  said  I,  and  with  a  laugh  took  my  seat,  but  adverted  no 
more  to  the  circumstance. 

We  had  a  pleasant  row  about  the  lake,  which  commanded 
some  pretty  scenery.  The  most  interesting  circumstance  con 
nected  with  it,  however,  according  to  Scott,  was,  that  it  was 
haunted  by  a  bogle  in  the  shape  of  a  water  bull,  which  lived  in  the 


ABBOTSFORD.  259 


deep  parts,  and  now  and  then  came  forth  upon  dry  land  and  made 
a  tremendous  roaring,  that  shook  the  very  hills.  This  story 
had  been  current  in  the  vicinity  from  time  immemorial ; — there 
was  a  man  living  who  declared  he  had  seen  the  bull, — and  he  was 
believed  by  many  of  his  simple  neighbors.  "  I  don't  choose  to 
contradict  the  tale,"  said  Scott,  "  for  I  am  willing  to  have  my 
lake  stocked  with  any  fish,  flesh,  or  fowl  that  my  neighbors  think 
proper  to  put  into  it ;  and  these  old  wives'  fables  are  a  kind  of 
property  in  Scotland  that  belong  to  the  estates  and  go  with  the 
soil.  Our  streams  and  lochs  are  like  the  rivers  and  pools  in 
Germany,  that  have  all  their  Wasser  Nixe,  or  water  witches,  and 
I  have  a  fancy  for  these  kind  of  amphibious  bogles  and  hobgob 
lins." 


Scott  went  on  after  we  had  landed  to  make  many  remarks, 
mingled  with  picturesque  anecdotes,  concerning  the  fabulous 
beings  with  which  the  Scotch  were  apt  to  people  the  wild  streams 
and  lochs  that  occur  in  the  solemn  and  lonely  scenes  of  their 
mountains;  and  to  compare  them  with  similar  superstitions 
among  the  northern  nations  of  Europe ;  but  Scotland,  he  said, 
was  above  all  other  countries  for  this  wild  and  vivid  progeny 
of  the  fancy,  from  the  nature  of  the  scenery,  the  misty  magnifi 
cence  and  vagueness  of  the  climate,  the  wild  and  gloomy  events 
of  its  history ;  the  clannish  divisions  of  its  people  ;  their  local 
feelings,  notions,  and  prejudices;  the  individuality  of  their 
dialect,  in  which  all  kinds  of  odd  and  peculiar  notions  were 
incorporated;  by  the  secluded  life  of  their  mountaineers; 
the  lonely  habits  of  their  pastoral  people,  much  of  whose 
time  was  passed  on  the  solitary  hillsides ;  their  traditional 


260  CRAYON    MISCELLANY. 


songs,  which  clothed  every  rock  and  stream  with  old  world 
stories,  handed  down  from  age  to  age,  and  generation  to  genera 
tion.  The  Scottish  mind,  he  said,  was  made  up  of  poetry  and 
strong  common  sense  ;  and  the  very  strength  of  the  latter  gave 
perpetuity  and  luxuriance  to  the  former.  It  was  a  strong  tena 
cious  soil,  into  which,  when  once  a  seed  of  poetry  fell,  it  struck 
deep,  root  and  brought  forth  abundantly.  "  You  will  never  weed 
these  popular  stories  and  songs  and  superstitions  out  of  Scot 
land,"  said  he.  "  It  is  not  so  much  that  the  people  believe  in 
them,  as  that  they  delight  in  them.  They  belong  to  the  native 
hills  and  streams  of  which  they  are  fond,  and  to  the  history  of 
their  forefathers,  of  which  they  are  proud." 

"It  would  do  your  heart  good,"  continued  he,  "to  see  a 
number  of  our  poor  country  people  seated  round  the  ingle  nook, 
which  is  generally  capacious  enough,  and  passing  the  long  dark 
dreary  winter  nights  listening  to  some  old  wife,  or  strolling  gaber- 
lunzie,  dealing  out  auld  world  stories  about  bogles  and  warlocks, 
or  about  raids  and  forays,  and  border  skirmishes ;  or  reciting 
some  ballad  stuck  full  of  those  fighting  names  that  stir  up  a  true 
Scotchman's  blood  like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet.  These  tradi 
tional  tales  and  ballads  have  lived  for  ages  in  mere  oral  circula 
tion,  being  passed  from  father  to  son,  or  rather  from  grandam  to 
grandchild,  and  are  a  kind  of  hereditary  property  of  the  poor 
peasantry,  of  which  it  would  be  hard  to  deprive  them,  as  they 
have  not  circulating  libraries  to  supply  them  with  works  of  fiction 
in  their  place." 

I  do  not  pretend  to  give  the  precise  words,  but,  as  nearly  as 
I  can  from  scanty  memorandums  and  vague  recollections,  the 
leading  ideas  of  Scott.  I  am  constantly  sensible,  however,  how 
far  I  fall  short  of  his  copiousness  and  richness. 


ABBOTSFORD.  261 


He  went  on  to  speak  of  the  elves  and  sprites,  so  frequent  in 
Scottish  legend.  "  Our  fairies,  however,"  said  he,  "  though  they 
dress  in  green,  and  gambol  by  moonlight  about  the  banks,  and 
shaws,  and  burnsides,  are  not  such  pleasant  little  folks  as  the 
English  fairies,  but  are  apt  to  bear  more  of  the  warlock  in  their 
natures,  and  to  play  spiteful  tricks.  When  I  was  a  boy,  I  used 
to  look  wistfully  at  the  green  hillocks  that  were  said  to  be  haunted 
by  fairies,  and  felt  sometimes  as  if  I  should  like  to  lie  down  by 
them  and  sleep,  and  be  carried  off  to  Fairy  Land,  only  that  I 
did  not  like  some  of  the  cantrips  which  used  now  and  then  to  be 
played  off  upon  visitors." 

Here  Scott  recounted,  in  graphic  style,  and  with  much  humor, 
a  little  story  which  used  to  be  current  in  the  neighborhood,  of  an 
honest  burgess  of  Selkirk,  who,  being  at  work  upon  the  hill  of 
Peatlaw,  fell  asleep  upon  one  of  these  l  fairy  knowes,'  or  hillocks. 
When  he  awoke,  he  rubbed  his  eyes  and  gazed  about  him  with 
astonishment,  for  he  was  in  the  market-place  of  a  great  city?  with 
a  crowd  of  people  bustling  about  him,  not  one  of  whom  he  knew. 
At  length  he  accosted  a  bystander,  and  asked  him  the  name 
of  the  place.  "  Hout  man,"  replied  the  other,  "  are  ye  in  the 
heart  o'  Glasgow,  and  speer  the  name  of  it  ?"  The  poor  man 
was  astonished,  and  would  not  believe  either  ears  or  eyes  ;  he 
insisted  that  he  had  laid  down  to  sleep  but  half  an  hour  before 
on  the  Peatlaw,  near  Selkirk.  He  came  well  nigh  being  taken 
up  for  a  madman,  when,  fortunately,  a  Selkirk  man  came  by, 
who  knew  him,  and  took  charge  of  him,  and  conducted  him  back 
to  his  native  place.  Here,  however,  he  was  likely  to  fare  no  bet 
ter,  when  he  spoke  of  having  been  whisked  in  his  sleep  from  the 
Peatlaw  to  Glasgow.  The  truth  of  the  matter  at  length  came 
out ;  his  coat,  which  he  had  taken  off  when  at  work  on  the  Peat- 


262  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


law,  was  found  lying  near  a  "fairy  knowe,"  and  his  bonnet, 
which  was  missing,  was  discovered  on  the  weathercock  of  Lanark 
steeple.  So  it  was  as  clear  as  day  that  he  had  been  carried 
through  the  air  by  the  fairies  while  he  was  sleeping,  and  his  bon 
net  had  been  blown  off  by  the  way. 

I  give  this  little  story  but  meagerly  from  a  scanty  memoran 
dum  ;  Scott  has  related  it  in  somewhat  different  style  in  a  note 
to  one  of  his  poems  ;  but  in  narration  these  anecdotes  derived 
their  chief  zest,  from  the  quiet  but  delightful  humor,  the  bon- 
hommie  with  which  he  seasoned  them,  and  the  sly  glance  of  the 
eye  from  under  his  bushy  eyebrows,  with  which  they  were  ac 
companied. 


That  day  at  dinner,  we  had  Mr.  Laidlaw  and  his  wife,  and  a 
female  friend  who  accompanied  them.  The  latter  was  a  very 
intelligent,  respectable  person,  about  the  middle  age,  and  was 
treated  with  particular  attention  and  courtesy  by  Scott.  Our 
dinner  was  a  most  agreeable  one  ;  for  the  guests  were  evidently 
cherished  visitors  to  the  house,  and  felt  that  they  were  appre 
ciated. 

When  they  were  gone,  Scott  spoke  of  them  in  the  most  cor 
dial  manner.  "  I  wished  to  show  you,"  said  he,  "  some  of  our 
really  excellent,  plain  Scotch  people ;  not  fine  gentlemen  and 
ladies,  for  such  you  can  meet  every  where,  and  they  are  every 
where  the  same.  The  character  of  a  nation  is  not  to  be  learnt 
from  its  fine  folks." 

He  then  went  on  with  a  particular  eulogium  on  the  lady  who 
had  accompanied  the  Laidlaws.  She  was  the  daughter,  he  said, 


ABBOTSFORD.  263 


of  a  poor  country  clergyman,  who  had  died  in  debt,  and  left  her 
an  orphan  and  destitute.  Having  had  a  good  plain  education, 
she  immediately  set  up  a  child's  school,  and  had  soon  a  numerous 
flock  under  her  care,  by  which  she  earned  a  decent  maintenance. 
That,  however,  was  not  her  main  object.  Her  first  care  was  to 
pay  off  her  father's  debts,  that  no  ill  word  or  ill  will  might  rest 
upon  his  memory.  This,  by  dint  of  Scottish  economy,  backed  by 
filial  reverence  and  pride,  she  accomplished,  though  in  the  effort, 
she  subjected  herself  to  every  privation.  Not  content  with  this, 
she  in  certain  instances  refused  to  take  pay  for  the  tuition  of  the 
children  of  some  of  her  neighbors,  who  had  befriended  her  father 
in  his  need,  and  had  since  fallen  into  poverty.  "  In  a  word," 
added  Scott,  "  she  is  a  fine  old  Scotch  girl ;  and  I  delight  in  her, 
more  than  in  many  a  fine  lady  I  have  known,  and  I  have  known 
many  of  the  finest." 


It  is  time,  however,  to  draw  this  rambling  narrative  to  a  close. 
Several  days  were  passed  by  me,  in  the  way  I  have  attempted  to 
describe,  in  almost  constant,  familiar,  and  joyous  conversation 
with  Scott ;  it  was,  as  if  I  were  admitted  to  a  social  communion 
with  Shakspeare,  for  it  was  with  one  of  a  kindred,  if  not  equal 
genius.  Every  night  I  retired  with  my  mind  filled  with  delight 
ful  recollections  of  the  day,  and  every  morning  I  rose  with  the 
certainty  of  new  enjoyment.  The  days  thus  spent,  I  shall  ever 
look  back  to,  as  among  the  very  happiest  of  my  life  ;  for  I  was 
conscious  at  the  time  of  being  happy. 

The  only  sad  moment  that  I  experienced  at  Abbotsford,  was 
that  of  my  departure  ;  but  it  was  cheered  with  the  prospect  of 
soon  returning ;  for  I  had  promised,  after  making  a  tour  in  the 


264  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


Highlands,  to  come  and  pass  a  few  more  days  on  the  banks  of 
the  Tweed,  when  Scott  intended  to  invite  Hogg  the  poet  to  meet 
me.  I  took  a  kind  farewell  of  the  family,  with  each  of  whom  I 
had  been  highly  pleased  ;  if  I  have  refrained -from  dwelling  par 
ticularly  on  their  several  characters,  and  giving  anecdotes  of 
them  individually,  it  is  because  I  consider  them  shielded  by  the 
sanctity  of  domestic  life :  Scott,  on  the  contrary,  belongs  to 
history.  As  he  accompanied  me  on  foot,  however,  to  a  small 
gate  on  the  confines  of  his  premises,  I  could  not  refrain  from 
expressing  the  enjoyment  I  had  experienced  in  his  domestic 
circle,  and  passing  some  warm  eulogiums  on  the  young  folks  from 
whom  I  had  just  parted.  I  shall  never  forget  his  reply.  "  They 
have  kind  hearts,"  said  he,  "  and  that  is  the  main  point  as  to 
human  happiness.  They  love  one  another,  poor  things,  which  is 
every  thing  in  domestic  life.  The  best  wish  I  can  make  you,  my 
friend,"  added  he,  laying  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  "  is,  that 
when  you  return  to  your  own  country,  you  may  get  married,  and 
have  a  family  of  young  bairns  about  you.  If  you  are  happy, 
there  they  are  to  share  your  happiness — and  if  you  are  otherwise 
— there  they  are  to  comfort  you." 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  the  gate,  when  he  halted,  and 
took  my  hand.  "  I  will  not  say  farewell,"  said  he,  "  for  it  is 
always  a  painful  word,  but  I  will  say,  come  again.  When  you 
have  made  your  tour  to  the  Highlands,  come  here  and  give  me  a 
few  more  days — but  come  when  you  please,  you  will  always  find 
Abbotsford  open  to  you,  and  a  hearty  welcome." 


I  have  thus  given,  in  a  rude  style,  my  main  recollections  of 
what  occurred  during  my  sojourn  at  Abbotsford,  and  I  feel  mor- 


ABBOTSFORD.  265 


tified  that  I  can  give  but  such  meager,  scattered,  and  colorless 
details  of  what  was  so  copious,  rich,  and  varied.  During  several 
days  that  I  passed  there  Scott  was  in  admirable  vein.  From 
early  morn  until  dinner  time  he  was  rambling  about,  showing  me 
the  neighborhood,  and  during  dinner,  and  until  late  at  night, 
engaged  in  social  conversation.  No  time  was  reserved  for  him 
self  ;  he  seemed  as  if  his  only  occupation  was  to  entertain  me ; 
and  yet  I  was  almost  an  entire  stranger  to  him,  one  of  whom 
he  knew  nothing,  but  an  idle  book  I  had  written,  and  which, 

some  years  before,  had  amused  him.     But  such  was  Scott he 

appeared  to  have  nothing  to  do  but  lavish  his  time,  attention,  and 
conversation  on  those  around.  It  was  difficult  to  imagine  what 
time  he  found  to  write  those  volumes  that  were  incessantly  issu 
ing  from  the  press ;  all  of  which,  too,  were  of  a  nature  to  require 
reading  and  research.  I  could  not  find  that  his  life  was  ever 
otherwise  than  a  life  of  leisure  and  hap-hazard  recreation,  such 
as  it  was  during  my  visit.  He  scarce  ever  balked  a  party  of 
pleasure,  or  a  sporting  excursion,  and  rarely  pleaded  his  own 
concerns  as  an  excuse  for  rejecting  those  of  others.  During  my 
visit  I  heard  of  other  visitors  who  had  preceded  me,  and  who 
must  have  kept  him  occupied  for  many  days,  and  I  have  had  an 
opportunity  of  knowing  the  course  of  his  daily  life  for  some  time 
subsequently.  Not  long  after  my  departure  from  Abbotsford, 
my  friend  Wilkie  arrived  there,  to  paint  a  picture  of  the  Scott 
family.  He  found  the  house  full  of  guests.  Scott's  whole  time 
was  taken  up  in  riding  and  driving  about  the  country,  or  in  social 
conversation  at  home.  "  All  this  time,"  said  Wilkie  to  me,  "  I 
did  not  presume  to  ask  Mr.  Scott  to  sit  for  his  portrait,  for  I 
saw  he  had  not  a  moment  to  spare ;  I  waited  for  the  guests  to  go 
away,  but  as  fast  as  one  went  another  arrived,  and  so  it  continued 

12 


266  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


for  several  days,  and  with  each  set  he  was  completely  occupied. 
At  length  all  went  off,  and  we  were  quiet.  I  thought,  however, 
Mr.  Scott  will  now  shut  himself  up  among  his  books  and  papers, 
for  he  has  to  make  up  for  lost  time  ;  it  won't  do  for  me  to  ask 
him  now  to  sit  for  his  picture.  Laidlaw,  who  managed  his  estate, 
came  in,  and  Scott  turned  to  him,  as  I  supposed,  to  consult  about 
business.  '  Laidlaw,'  said  he,  '  to-morrow  morning  we'll  go 
across  the  water  and  take  the  dogs  with  us — there's  a  place  where 
I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  find  a  hare.' 

"  In  short,"  added  Wilkie,  "  I  found  that  instead  of  business, 
he  was  thinking  only  of  amusement,  as  if  he  had  nothing  in  the 
world  to  occupy  him ;  so  I  no  longer  feared  to  intrude  upon 
him." 

The  conversation  of  Scott  was  frank,  hearty,  picturesque,  and 
dramatic.  During  the  time  of  my  visit  he  inclined  to  the  comic 
rather  than  the  grave,  in  his  anecdotes  and  stories,  and  such,  I 
was  told,  was  his  general  inclination.  He  relished  a  joke,  or  a 
trait  of  humor  in  social  intercourse,  and  laughed  with  right  good 
will.  He  talked  not  for  effect,  nor  display,  but  from  the  flow  of 
his  spirits,  the  stores  of  his  memory,  and  the  vigor  of  his  imagi 
nation.  He  had  a  natural  turn  for  narration,  and  his  narratives 
and  descriptions  were  without  effort,  yet  wonderfully  graphic. 
He  placed  the  scene  before  you  like  a  picture  ;  he  gave  the  dia 
logue  with  the  appropriate  dialect  or  peculiarities,  and  described 
the  appearance  and  characters  of  his  personages  with  that  spirit 
and  felicity  evinced  in  his  writings.  Indeed,  his  conversation 
reminded  me  continually  of  his  novels  ;  and  it  seemed  to  me, 
that  during  the  whole  time  I  was  with  him,  he  talked  enough  to 
fill  volumes,  and  that  they  could  not  have  been  filled  more  de 
lightfully. 


ABBOTSFORD.  267 


He  was  as  good  a  listener  as  talker,  appreciating  every  thing 
that  others  said,  however  humble  might  be  their  rank  or  preten 
sions,  and  was  quick  to  testify  his  perception  of  any  point  in 
their  discourse.  He  arrogated  nothing  to  himself,  but  was  per 
fectly  unassuming  and  unpretending,  entering  with  heart  and 
soul  into  the  business,  or  pleasure,  or,  I  had  almost  said,  folly, 
of  the  hour  and  the  company.  No  one's  concerns,  no  one's 
thoughts,  no  one's  opinions,  no  one's  tastes  and  pleasures  seemed 
beneath  him.  He  made  himself  so  thoroughly  the  companion  of 
those  with  whom  he  happened  to  be,  that  they  forgot  for  a  time 
his  vast  superiority,  and  only  recollected  and  wondered,  when  all 
was  over,  that  it  was  Scott  with  whom  they  had  been  on  such* 
familiar  terms,  and  in  whose  society  they  had  felt  so  perfectly  at 
their  ease. 

It  was  delightful  to  observe  the  generous  spirit  in  which  he 
spoke  of  all  his  literary  contemporaries,  quoting  the  beauties  of 
their  works,  and  this,  too,  with  respect  to  persons  with  whom  he 
might  have  been  supposed  to  be  at  variance  in  literature  or  poli 
tics.  Jeffrey,  it  was  thought,  had  ruffled  his  plumes  in  one  of  his 
reviews,  yet  Scott  spoke  of  him  in  terms  of  high  and  warm 
eulogy,  both  as  an  author  and  as  a  man. 

His  humor  in  conversation,  as  in  his  works,  was  genial  and 
free  from  all  causticity.  He  had  a  quick  perception  of  faults 
and  foibles,  but  he  looked  upon  poor  human  nature  with  an 
indulgent  eye,  relishing  what  was  good  and  pleasant,  tolerating 
what  was  frail,  and  pitying  what  was  evil.  It  is  this  beneficent 
spirit  which  gives  such  an  air  of  bonhommie  to  Scott's  humor 
throughout  all  his  works.  He  played  with  the  foibles  and  errors 
of  his_  fellow  beings,  and  presented  them  in  a  thousand  whimsical 


268  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


and  characteristic  lights,  but  the  kindness  and  generosity  of  his 
nature  would  not  allow  him  to  be  a  satirist.  I  do  not  recollect 
a  sneer  throughout  his  conversation  any  more  than  there  is 
throughout  his  works. 

Such  is  a  rough  sketch  of  Scott,  as  I  saw  him  in  private  life, 
not  merely  at  the  time  of  the  visit  here  narrated,  but  in  the 
casual  intercourse  of  subsequent  years.  Of  his  public  character 
and  merits,  all  the  world  can  judge.  His  works  have  incorpo 
rated  themselves  with  the  thoughts  and  concerns  of  the  whole 
civilized  world,  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  have  had  a  con 
trolling  influence  over  the  age  in  which  he  lived.  But  when  did  a 
human  being  ever  exercise  an  influence  more  salutary  and  benig 
nant  ?  Who  is  there  that,  on  looking  back  over  a  great  portion 
of  his  life,  does  not  find  the  genius  of  Scott  administering  to  his 
pleasures,  beguiling  his  cares,  and  soothing  his  lonely  sorrows  ? 
Who  does  not  still  regard  his  works  as  a  treasury  of  pure  enjoy 
ment,  an  armory  to  which  to  resort  in  time  of  need,  to  find 
weapons  with  which  to  fight  off  the  evils  and  the  griefs  of  life  1 
For  my  own  part,  in  periods  of  dejection,  I  have  hailed  the 
announcement  of  a  new  work  from  his  pen  as  an  earnest  of  cer 
tain  pleasure  in  store  for  me,  and  have  looked  forward  to  it  as  a 
traveller  in  a  waste  looks  to  a  green  spot  at  a  distance,  where  he 
feels  assured  of  solace  and  refreshment.  When  I  consider  how 
much  he  has  thus  contributed  to  the  better  hours  of  my  past 
existence,  and  how  independent  his  works  still  make  me,  at 
times,  of  all  the  world  for  my  enjoyment,  I  bless  my  stars  that 
cast  my  lot  in  his  days,  to  be  thus  cheered  and  gladdened  by  the 
outpourings  of  his  genius.  I  consider  it  one  of  the  greatest 
advantages  that  I  have  derived  from  my  literary  career,  that  it 


ABBOTSFORD.  269 


has  elevated  me  into  genial  communion  with  such  a  spirit ;  and 
as  a  tribute  of  gratitude  for  his  friendship,  and  veneration  for  his 
memory,  I  cast  this  humble  stone  upon  his  cairn,  which  will  soon, 
I  trust,  be  piled  aloft  with  the  contributions  of  abler  hands. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 


NEWSTEAD   ABBEY. 


HISTORICAL   NOTICE. 

BEING  about  to  give  a  few  sketches  taken  during  a  three  weeks' 
sojourn  in  the  ancestral  mansion  of  the  late  Lord  Byron,  I  think 
it  proper  to  premise  some  brief  particulars  concerning  its  history. 

Newstead  Abbey  is  one  of  the  finest  specimens  in  existence 
of  those  quaint  and  romantic  piles,  half  castle,  half  convent, 
which  remain  as  monuments  of  the  olden  times  of  England.  It 
stands,  too,  in  the  midst  of  a  legendary  neighborhood  ;  being  in 
the  heart  of  Sherwood  Forest,  and  surrounded  by  the  haunts  of 
Robin  Hood  and  his  band  of  outlaws,  so  famous  in  ancient  ballad 
and  nursery  tale.  It  is  true,  the  forest  scarcely  exists  but  in 
name,  and  the  tract  of  country  over  which  it  once  extended  its 
broad  solitudes  and  shades,  is  now  an  open  and  smiling  region, 
cultivated  with  parks  and  farms,  and  enlivened  with  villages. 

Newstead,  which  probably  once  exerted  a  monastic  sway  over 
this  region,  and  controlled  the  consciences  of  the  rude  foresters, 
was  originally  a  priory,  founded  in  the  latter  part  of  the  twelfth 
century,  by  Henry  II,  at  the  time  when  he  sought,  by  building 
of  shrines  and  convents,  and  by  other  acts  of  external  piety,  to 

12* 


274  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


expiate  the  murder  of  Thomas  a  Beeket.  The  priory  was  dedi 
cated  to  God  and  the  Virgin,  and  was  inhabited  by  a  fraternity 
of  canons  regular  of  St.  Augustine.  This  order  was  originally 
simple  and  abstemious  in  its  mode  of  living,  and  exemplary  in 
its  conduct ;  but  it  would  seem  that  it  gradually  lapsed  into  those 
abuses  which  disgraced  too  many  of  the  wealthy  monastic  estab 
lishments  ;  for  there  are  documents  among  its  archives  which 
intimate  the  prevalence  of  gross  misrule  and  dissolute  sensuality 
among  its  members. 

At  the  time  of  the  dissolution  of  the  convents  during  the 
reign  of  Henry  VIII,  Newstead  underwent  a  sudden  reverse, 
being  given,  with  the  neighboring  manor  and  rectory  of  Papel- 
wick,  to  Sir  John  Byron,  Steward  of  Manchester  and  Rochdale, 
and  Lieutenant  of  Sherwood  Forest.  This  ancient  family  worthy 
figures  in  the  traditions  of  the  Abbey,  and  in  the  ghost  stories 
with  which  it  abounds,  under  the  quaint  and  graphic  appellation 
of  "  Sir  John  Byron  the  Little,  with  the  great  Beard."  He  con 
verted  the  saintly  edifice  into  a  castellated  dwelling,  making  it 
his  favorite  residence  and  the  seat  of  his  forest  jurisdiction. 

The  Byron  family  being  subsequently  ennobled  by  a  baronial 
title,  and  enriched  by  various  possessions,  maintained  great  style 
and  retinue  at  Newstead.  The  proud  edifice  partook,  however, 
of  the  vicissitudes  of  the  times,  and  Lord  Byron,  in  one  of  his 
poems,  represents  it  as  alternately  the  scene  of  lordly  wassailing 
and  of  civil  war : 

"  Hark,  how  the  hall  resounding  to  the  strain, 

Shakes  with  the  martial  music's  novel  din  ! 
The  heralds  of  a  warrior's  haughty  reign, 
High  crested  banners  wave  thy  walls  within. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  275 


Of  changing  sentinels  the  distant  hum, 

The  mirth  of  feasts,  the  clang  of  burnish'd  arms, 

The  braying  trumpet,  and  the  hoarser  drum, 
Unite  in  concert  with  increased  alarms." 

About  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  the  Abbey  came  into 
the  possession  of  another  noted  character,  who  makes  no  less 
figure  in  its  shadowy  traditions  than  Sir  John  the  Little  with  the 
great  Beard.  This  was  the  grand-uncle  of  the  poet,  familiarly 
known  among  the  gossiping  chroniclers  of  the  Abbey  as  "  the 
Wicked  Lord  Byron."  He  is  represented  as  a  man  of  irritable 
passions  and  vindictive  temper,  in  the  indulgence  of  wiiich  an 
incident  occurred  which  gave  a  turn  to  his  whole  character  and 
life,  and  in  some  measure  affected  the  fortunes  of  the  Abbey.  In 
his  neighborhood  lived  his  kinsman  and  friend,  Mr.  Chaworth, 
proprietor  of  Annesley  Hall.  Being  together  in  London  in 
1765,  in  a  chamber  of  the  Star  and  G-arter  tavern  in  Pall  Mall, 
a  quarrel  rose  between  them.  Byron  insisted  upon  settling  it 
upon  the  spot  by  single  combat.  They  fought  without  seconds, 
by  the  dim  light  of  a  candle,  and  Mr.  Chaworth,  although  the  most 
expert  swordsman,  received  a  mortal  wound.  With  his  dying 
breath  he  related  such  particulars  of  the  contest  as  induced  the 
coroner's  jury  to  return  a  verdict  of  wilful  murder.  Lord  Byron 
was  sent  to  the  tower,  and  subsequently  tried  before  the  House 
of  Peers,  where  an  ultimate  verdict  was  given  of  manslaughter. 

He  retired  after  this  to  the  Abbey,  where  he  shut  himself  up 
to  brood  over  his  disgraces  ;  grew  gloomy,  morose,  and  fantas 
tical,  and  indulged  in  fits  of  passion  and  caprice,  that  made  him 
the  theme  of  rural  wonder  and  scandal.  No  tale  was  too  wild 
or  too  monstrous  for  vulgar  belief.  Like  his  successor  the  poet, 
he  was  accused  of  all  kinds  of  vagaries  and  wickedness.  It  was 


276  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


said  that  he  always  went  armed,  as  if  prepared  to  commit  murder 
on  the  least  provocation.  At  one  time,  when  a  gentleman  of  his 
neighborhood  was  to  dine  tete  a  tete  with  him,  it  is  said  a  brace  of 
pistols  were  gravely  laid  with  the  knives  and  forks  upon  the  table, 
as  part  of  the  regular  table  furniture,  and  implements  that  might 
be  needed  in  the  course  of  the  repast.  Another  rumor  states 
that  being  exasperated  at  his  coachman  for  disobedience  to  orders, 
he  shot  him  on  the  spot,  threw  his  body  into  the  coach  where  Lady 
Byron  was  seated,  and,  mounting  the  box,  officiated  in  his  stead. 
At  another  time,  according  to  the  same  vulgar  rumors,  he  threw 
her  ladyship  into  the  lake  in  front  of  the  Abbey,  where  she  would 
have  been  drowned,  but  for  the  timely  aid  of  the  gardener. 
These  stories  are  doubtless  exaggerations  of  trivial  incidents 
which  may  have  occurred  ;  but  it  is  certain  that  the  wayward 
passions  of  this  unhappy  man  caused  a  separation  from  his  wife, 
and  finally  spread  a  solitude  around  him.  Being  displeased  at 
the  marriage  of  his  son,  and  heir,  he  displayed  an  inveterate  ma 
lignity  towards  him.  Not  being  able  to  cut  off  his  succession  to 
the  Abbey  estate,  which  descended  to  him  by  entail,  he  endeav 
ored  to  injure  it  as  much  as  possible,  so  that  it  might  come  a 
mere  wreck  into  his  hands.  For  this  purpose  he  suffered  the 
Abbey  to  fall  out  of  repair,  and  every  thing  to  go  to  waste  about 
it,  and  cut  down  all  the  timber  on  the  estate,  laying  low  many  a 
tract  of  old  Sherwood  Forest,  so  that  the  Abbey  lands  lay  strip 
ped  and  bare  of  all  their  ancient  honors.  He  was  baffled  in  his 
unnatural  revenge  by  the  premature  death  of  his  son,  and  passed 
the  remainder  of  his  days  in  his  deserted  and  dilapidated  halls, 
a  gloomy  misanthrope,  brooding  amidst  the  scenes  he  had  laid 
desolate. 

His  wayward  humors  drove  from  him  all  neighborly  society, 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  277 


and  for  a  part  of  the  time  he  was  almost  without  domestics.  In 
his  misanthropic  mood,  when  at  variance  with  all  human  kind,  he 
took  to  feeding  crickets,  so  that  in  process  of  time  the  Abbey 
was  overrun  with  them,  and  its  lonely  halls  made  more  lonely  at 
night  by  their  monotonous  music.  Tradition  adds  that,  at  his 
death,  the  crickets  seemed  aware  that  they  had  lost  their  patron 
and  protector,  for  they  one  and  all  packed  up  bag  and  baggage, 
and  left  the  Abbey,  trooping  across  its  courts  and  corridors  in  all 
directions. 

The  death  of  the  "  Old  Lord,"  or  "  The  Wicked  Lord  Byron," 
for  he  is  known  by  both  appellations,  occurred  in  1798  ;  and  the 
Abbey  then  passed  into  the  possession  of  the  poet.  The  latter 
was  but  eleven  years  of  age,  and  living  in  humble  style  with  his 
mother  in  Scotland.  They  came  soon  after  to  England,  to  take 
possession.  Moore  gives  a  simple  but  striking  anecdote  of  the 
first  arrival  of  the  poet  at  the  domains  of  his  ancestors. 

They  had  arrived  at  the  Newstead  toll-bar,  and  saw  the 
woods  of  the  Abbey  stretching  out  to  receive  them,  when  Mrs. 
Byron,  affecting  to  be  ignorant  of  the  place,  asked  the  woman  of 
the  toll-house  to  whom  that  seat  belonged  ?  She  was  told  that 
the  owner  of  it,  Lord  Byron,  had  been  some  months  dead. 
"  And  who  is  the  next  heir  ?"  asked  the  proud  and  happy  mother. 
"  They  say,"  answered  the  old  woman,  "  it  is  a  little  boy  who 
lives  at  Aberdeen."  "  And  this  is  he,  bless  him  !"  exclaimed 
the  nurse,  no  longer  able  to  contain  herself,  and  turning  to  kiss 
with  delight  the  young  lord  who  was  seated  on  her  lap.* 

During  Lord  Byron's  minority,  the  Abbey  was  let  to  Lord 
Grey  de  Euthen,  but  the  poet  visited  it  occasionally  during  the 
Harrow  vacations,  when  he  resided  with  his  mother  at  lodgings 
*  Moore's  Life  of  Lord  Byron. 


278  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


in  Nottingham.  It  was  treated  little  better  by  its  present  tenant, 
than  by  the  old  lord  who  preceded  him ;  so  that  when,  in  the 
autumn  of  1808,  Lord  Byron  took  up  his  abode  there,  it  was  in 
a  ruinous  condition.  The  following  lines  from  his  own  pen,  may 
give  some  idea  of  its  condition  : 

"  Through  thy  battlements,  Newstead,  the  hollow  winds  whistle, 

Thou,  the  hall  of  my  fathers,  art  gone  to  decay  ; 
In  thy  once  smiling  garden,  the  hemlock  and  thistle 

Have  choked  up  the  rose  which  once  bloomed  in  the  way. 

Of  the  mail- covered  barons  who,  proudly,  to  battle 
Led  thy  vassals  from  Europe  to  Palestine's  plain, 

The  escutcheon  and  shield,  which  with  every  wind  rattle, 
Are  the  only  sad  vestiges  now  that  remain."* 

In  another  poem  he  expresses  the  melancholy  feeling  with 
which  he  took  possession  of  his  ancestral  mansion : 

"  Newstead !  what  saddening  scene  of  change  is  thine, 

Thy  yawning  arch  betokens  sure  decay : 
The  last  and  youngest  of  a  noble  line, 

Now  holds  thy  mouldering  turrets  in  his  sway. 

Deserted  now,  he  scans  thy  gray- worn  towers, 
Thy  vaults,  where  dead  of  feudal  ages  sleep, 

Thy  cloisters,  pervious  to  the  wintry  showers, 

These — these  he  views,  and  views  them  but  to  weep. 

Yet  he  prefers  thee  to  the  gilded  domes, 

Or  gewgaw  grottoes  of  the  vainly  great ; 
Yet  lingers  mid  thy  damp  and  mossy  tombs, 

Nor  breathes  a  murmur  'gainst  the  will  of  fate."t 

*  Lines  on  leaving  Newstead  Abbey.         t  Elegy  on  Newstead  Abbey. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  279 


Lord  Byron  had  not  fortune  sufficient  to  put  the  pile  in 
extensive  repair,  nor  to  maintain  any  thing  like  the  state  of  his 
ancestors.  He  restored  some  of  the  apartments,  so  as  to  furnish 
his  mother  with  a  comfortable  habitation,  and  fitted  up  a  quaint 
study  for  himself,  in  which,  among  books  and  busts,  and  other 
library  furniture,  were  two  skulls  of  the  ancient  friars,  grinning 
on  each  side  of  an  antique  cross.  One  of  his  gay  companions 
gives  a  picture  of  Newstead  when  thus  repaired,  and  the  picture 
is  sufficiently  desolate. 

"  There  are  two  tiers  of  cloisters,  with  a  variety  of  cells  and 
rooms  about  them,  which,  though  not  inhabited,  nor  in  an  inhabi 
table  state,  might  easily  be  made  so  ;  and  many  of  the  original 
rooms,  among  which  is  a  fine  stone  hall,  are  still  in  use.  Of  the 
Abbey  church,  one  end  only  remains  ;  and  the  old  kitchen,  with 
a  long  range  of  apartments,  is  reduced  to  a  heap  of  rubbish. 
Leading  from  the  Abbey  to  the  modern  part  of  the  habitation  is 
a  noble  room,  seventy  feet  in  length,  and  twenty-three  in  breadth  ; 
but  every  pa,rt  of  the  house  displays  neglect  and  decay,  save 
those  which  the  present  lord  has  lately  fitted  up."* 

Even  the  repairs  thus  made  were  but  of  transient  benefit,  for 
the  roof  being  left  in  its  dilapidated  state,  the  rain  soon  pene 
trated  into  the  apartments  which  Lord  Byron  had  restored  and 
decorated,  and  in  a  few  years  rendered  them  almost  as  desolate 
as  the  rest  of  the  Abbey. 

Still  he  felt  a  pride  in  the  ruinous  old  edifice ;  its  very  dreary 
and  dismantled  state,  addressed  itself  to  his  poetical  imagination, 
and  to  that  love  of  the  melancholy  and  the  grand  which  is 
evinced  in  all  his  writings.  "  Come  what  may,"  said  he  in  one 

*  Letter  of  the  late  Charles  Skinner  Mathews,  Esq. 


280  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


of  his  letters,  "  Newstead  and  I  stand  or  fall  together.  I  have 
now  lived  on  the  spot.  I  have  fixed  my  heart  upon  it,  and  no 
pressure,  present  or  future,  shall  induce  me  to  barter  the  last 
vestige  of  our  inheritance.  I  have  that  pride  within  me  which 
will  enable  me  to  support  difficulties :  could  I  obtain  in  exchange 
for  Newstead  Abbey,  the  first  fortune  in  the  country,  I  would 
reject  the  proposition." 

His  residence  at  the  Abbey,  however,  was  fitful  and  uncertain. 
He  passed  occasional  portions  of  time  there,  sometimes  stu 
diously  and  alone,  oftener  idly  and  recklessly,  and  occasionally 
with  young  and  gay  companions,  in  riot  and  revelry,  and  the  in 
dulgence  of  all  kinds  of  mad  caprice.  The  Abbey  was  by  no 
means  benefited  by  these  roystering  inmates,  who  sometimes 
played  off  monkish  mummeries  about  the  cloisters,  at  other 
times  turned  the  state  chambers  into  schools  for  boxing  and 
single-stick,  and  shot  pistols  in  the  great  hall.  The  country  peo 
ple  of  the  neighborhood  were  as  much  puzzled  by  these  madcap 
vagaries  of  the  new  incumbent,  as  by  the  gloomier  habits  of  the 
"  old  lord,"  and  began  to  think  that  madness  was  inherent  in  the 
Byron  race,  or  that  some  wayward  star  ruled  over  the  Abbey. 

It  is  needless  to  enter  into  a  detail  of  the  circumstances 
which  led  his  Lordship  to  sell  his  ancestral  estate,  notwithstand 
ing  the  partial  predilections  and  hereditary  feeling  which  he  had 
so  eloquently  expressed.  Fortunately,  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  a 
man  who  possessed  something  of  a  poetical  temperament,  and 
who  cherished  an  enthusiastic  admiration  for  Lord  Byron.  Col 
onel  (at  that  time  Major)  Wildman  had  been  a  schoolmate  of  the 
poet,  and  sat  with  him  on  the  same  form  at  Harrow.  He  had 
subsequently  distinguished  himself  in  the  war  of  the  Peninsula, 
and  at  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  and  it  was  a  great  consolation  to 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  281 


Lord  Byron,  in  parting  with  his  family  estate,  to  know  that  it 
would  be  held  by  one  capable  of  restoring  its  faded  glories, 
and  who  would  respect  and  preserve  all  the  monuments  and 
memorials  of  his  line.* 

The  confidence  of  Lord  Byron  in  the  good  feeling  and  good 
taste  of  Colonel  Wildman  has  been  justified  by  the  event. 
Under  his  judicious  eye  and  munificent  hand  the  venerable  and 
romantic  pile  has  risen  from  its  ruins  in  all  its  old  monastic  and 
baronial  splendor,  and  additions  have  been  made  to  it  in  perfect 
conformity  of  style.  The  groves  and  forests  have  been  replant 
ed  ;  the  lakes  and  fish-ponds  cleaned  out,  and  the  gardens  rescued 
from  the  "  hemlock  and  thistle,"  and  restored  to  their  pristine 
and  dignified  formality. 

*  The  following  letter,  written  in  the  course  of  the  transfer  of  the  estate, 
has  never  been  published  : — 

Venice,  Nov.  18,  1818. 
MY  DEAR  WILDMAN, 

Mr.  Hanson  is  on  the  eve  of  his  return,  so  that  I  have  only  time  to  return 
a  few  inadequate  thanks  for  your  very  kind  letter.  I  should  regret  to  trouble 
you  with  any  requests  of  mine,  in  regard  to  the  preservation  of  any  signs  of 
my  family,  which  may  still  exist  at  Newstead,  and  leave  every  thing  of  that 
kind  to  your  own  feelings,  present  or  future,  upon  the  subject.  The  portrait 
which  you  flatter  me  by  desiring,  would  not  be  worth  to  you  your  trouble  and 
expense  of  such  an  expedition,  but  you  may  rely  upon  having  the  very  first 
that  may  be  painted,  and  which  may  seem  worth  your  acceptance. 

I  trust  that  Newstead  will,  being  yours,  remain  so,  and  that  it  may  see  you 
as  happy,  as  I  am  very  sure  that  you  will  make  your  dependents.  With  regard 
to  myself,  you  may  be  sure  that  whether  in  the  fourth,  or  fifth,  or  sixth  form  at 
Harrow,  or  in  the  fluctuations  of  after  life,  I  shall  always  remember  with  regard 
my  old  schoolfellow—fellow  monitor,  and  friend,  and  recognize  with  respect  the 
gallant  soldier,  who,  with  all  the  advantages  of  fortune  and  allurements  of  youth 
to  a  life  of  pleasure,  devoted  himself  to  duties  of  a  nobler  order,  and  will  receive 
his  reward  in  the  esteem  and  admiration  of  his  country. 

Ever  yours  most  truly  and  affectionately, 

BYRON. 


282  CRAYON    MISCELLANY. 


The  farms  on  the  estate  have  been  put  in  complete  order,  new 
farmhouses  built  of  stone,  in  the  picturesque  and  comfortable 
style  of  the  old  English  granges  ;  the  hereditary  tenants  secured 
in  their  paternal  homes,  and  treated  with  the  most  considerate 
indulgence ;  every  thing,  in  a  word,  gives  happy  indications  of  a 
liberal  and  beneficent  landlord. 

What  most,  however,  will  interest  the  visitors  to  the  Abbey  in 
favor  of  its  present  occupant,  is  the  reverential  care  with  which 
he  has  preserved  and  renovated  every  monument  and  relic  of  the 
Byron  family,  and  every  object  in  any  wise  connected  with  the 
memory  of  the  poet.  Eighty  thousand  pounds  have  already  been 
expended  upon  the  venerable  pile,  yet  the  work  is  still  going  on, 
and  Newstead  promises  to  realize  the  hope  faintly  breathed  by 
the  poet  when  bidding  it  a  melancholy  farewell — 

"  Haply  thy  sun  emerging,  yet  may  shine, 
Thee  to  irradiate  with  meridian  ray  ; 
Hours  splendid  as  the  past  may  still  be  thine, 
And  bless  thy  future,  as  thy  former  day." 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  283 


ARRIVAL  AT  THE  ABBEY. 

I  HAD  been  passing  a  merry  Christmas  in  the  good  old  style  at 
Barlboro'  Hall,  a  venerable  family  mansion  in  Derbyshire,  and 
set  off  to  finish  the  holidays  with  the  hospitable  proprietor  of 
Newstead  Abbey.  A  drive  of  seventeen  miles  through  a  pleasant 
country,  part  of  it  the  storied  region  of  Sherwood  Forest, 
brought  me  to  the  gate  of  Newstead  Park.  The  aspect  of  the 
park  was  by  no  means  imposing,  the  fine  old  trees  that  once 
adorned  it  having  been  laid  low  by  Lord  Byron's  wayward  pre 
decessor. 

Entering  the  gate,  the  postchaise  rolled  heavily  along  a  sandy 
road,  between  naked  declivities,  gradually  descending  into  one  of 
those  gentle  and  sheltered  valleys,  in  which  the  sleek  monks  of 
old  loved  to  nestle  themselves.  Here  a  sweep  of  the  road  round 
an  angle  of  a  garden  wall  brought  us  full  in  front  of  the  venera 
ble  edifice,  embosomed  in  the  valley,  with  a  beautiful  sheet  of 
water  spreading  out  before  it. 

The  irregular  gray  pile,  of  motley  architecture,  answered  to 
the  description  given  by  Lord  Byron  : 

"  An  old,  old  monastery  once,  and  now 
Still  older  mansion,  of  a  rich  and  rare 
Mixed  Gothic " 


284  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


One  end  was  fortified  by  a  castellated  tower,  bespeaking  the 
baronial  and  warlike  days  of  the  edifice  ;  the  other  end  maintained 
its  primitive  monastic  character.  A  ruined  chapel,  flanked  by  a 
solemn  grove,  still  reared  its  front  entire.  It  is  true,  the  threshold 
of  the  once  frequented  portal  was  grass-grown,  and  the  great  lan 
cet  window,  once  glorious  with  painted  glass,  was  now  entwined 
and  overhung  with  ivy ;  but  the  old  convent  cross  still  braved 
both  time  and  tempest  on  the  pinnacle  of  the  chapel,  and  below, 
the  blessed  effigies  of  the  Virgin  and  child,  sculptured  in  gray 
stone,  remained  uninjured  in  their  niche,  giving  a  sanctified 
aspect  to  the  pile.* 

A  flight  of  rooks,  tenants  of  the  adjacent  grove,  were  hover 
ing  about  the  ruin,  and  balancing  themselves  upon  every  airy 
projection,  and  looked  down  with  curious  eye  and  cawed  as  the 
postchaise  rattled  along  below. 

The  chamberlain  of  the  Abbey,  a  most  decorous  personage, 
dressed  in  black,  received  us  at  the  portal.  Here,  too,  we 
encountered  a  memento  of  Lord  Byron,  a  great  black  and  white 
Newfoundland  dog,  that  had  accompanied  his  remains  from 
Greece.  He  was  descended  from  the  famous  Boatswain,  and 
inherited  his  generous  qualities.  He  was  a  cherished  inmate  of 
the  Abbey,  and  honored  and  caressed  by  every  visitor.  Con 
ducted  by  the  chamberlain,  and  followed  by  the  dog,  who  assisted 
in  doing  the  honors  of  the  house,  we  passed  through  a  long  low 

*  " in  a  higher  niche,  alone,  but  crown'd, 

The  Virgin  Mother  of  the  God-born  child 
With  her  son  in  her  blessed  arms,  looked  round, 

Spared  by  some  chance,  when  all  beside  was  spoil'd : 
She  made  the  earth  below  seem  holy  ground." 

DON  JUAN,  Canto  III. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  285 


vaulted  hall,  supported  by  massive  Grothic  arches,  and  not  a  little 
resembling  the  crypt  of  a  cathedral,  being  the  basement  story  of 
the  Abbey. 

From  this  we  ascended  a  stone  staircase,  at  the  head  of  which 
a,  pair  of  folding  doors  admitted  us  into  a  broad  corridor  that  ran 
round  the  interior  of  the  Abbey.  The  windows  of  the  corridor 
looked  into  a  quadrangular  grass-grown  court,  forming  the  hollow 
centre  of  the  pile.  In  the  midst  of  it  rose  a  lofty  and  fantastic 
fountain,  wrought  of  the  same  gray  stone  as  the  main  edifice, 
and  which  has  been  well  described  by  Lord  Byron. 

"  Amidst  the  court  a  Gothic  fountain  play'd, 

Symmetrical,  but  deck'd  with  carvings  quaint, 

Strange  faces,  like  to  men  in  masquerade, 
And  here  perhaps  a  monster,  there  a  saint : 

The  spring  rush'd  through  grim  mouths  of  granite  made, 
And  sparkled  into  basins,  where  it  spent 

Its  little  torrent  in  a  thousand  bubbles, 

Like  man's  vain  glory,  and  his  vainer  troubles."  * 

Around  this  quadrangle  were  low  vaulted  cloisters,  with 
Gothic  arches,  once  the  secluded  walks  of  the  monks :  the  corri 
dor  along  which  we  were  passing  was  built  above  these  cloisters, 
and  their  hollow  arches  seemed  to  reverberate  every  footfall. 
Every  thing  thus  far  had  a  solemn  monastic  air  ;  but,  on  arriving 
at  an  angle  of  the  corridor,  the  eye,  glancing  along  a  shadowy 
gallery,  caught  a  sight  of  two  dark  figures  in  plate  armor,  with 
closed  visors,  bucklers  braced,  and  swords  drawn,  standing  mo 
tionless  against  the  wall.  They  seemed  two  phantoms  of  the 
chivalrous  era  of  the  Abbey. 

*  Don  Juan,  Canto  III. 


286  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


Here  the  chamberlain,  throwing  open  a  folding  door,  ushered 
us  at  once  into  a  spacious  and  lofty  saloon,  which  offered  a 
brilliant  contrast  to  the  quaint  and  sombre  apartments  we  had 
traversed.  It  was  elegantly  furnished,  and  the  walls  hung  with 
paintings,  yet  something  of  its  original  architecture  had  been 
preserved  and  blended  with  modern  embellishments.  There 
were  the  stone-shafted  casements  and  the  deep  bow-window  of 
former  times.  The  carved  and  panelled  wood  work  of  the  lofty 
ceiling  had  likewise  been  carefully  restored,  and  its  Gothic  and 
grotesque  devices  painted  and  gilded  in  their  ancient  style. 

Here,  too,  were  emblems  of  the  former  and  latter  days  of  the 
Abbey,  in  the  effigies  of  the  first  and  last  of  the  Byron  line  that 
held  sway  over  its  destinies.  At  the  upper  end  of  the  saloon, 
above  the  door,  the  dark  Gothic  portrait  of  "  Sir  John  Byron  the 
Little  with  the  great  Beard,"  looked  grimly  down  from  his 
canvas,  while,  at  the  opposite  end,  a  white  marble  bust  of 
the  genius  loci,  the  noble  poet,  shone  conspicuously  from  its 
pedestal. 

The  whole  air  and  style  of  the  apartment  partook  more  of  the 
palace  than  the  monastery,  and  its  windows  looked  forth  on  a 
suitable  prospect,  composed  of  beautiful  groves,  smooth  verdant 
lawns,  and  silver  sheets  of  water.  Below  the  windows  was  a 
small  flower-garden,  inclosed  by  stone  balustrades,  on  which  were 
stately  peacocks,  sunning  themselves  and  displaying  their  plu 
mage.  About  the  grass-plots  in  front,  were  gay  cock  pheasants, 
and  plump  partridges,  and  nimble-footed  water  hens,  feeding 
almost  in  perfect  security. 

Such  was  the  medley  of  objects  presented  to  the  eye  on  first 
visiting  the  Abbey,  and  I  found  the  interior  fully  to  answer  the 
description  of  the  poet — 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  287 


'•'  The  mansion's  self  was  vast  and  venerable, 

With  more  of  the  monastic  than  has  been 
Elsewhere  preserved  ;  the  cloisters  still  were  stable, 

The  cells,  too,  and  refectory,  I  ween  ; 
An  exquisite  small  chapel  had  been  able, 

Still  unimpair'd,  to  decorate  the  scene  ; 
The  rest  had  been  reformed,  replaced,  or  sunk, 
And  spoke  more  of  the  friar  than  the  monk. 

Huge  halls,  long  galleries,  spacious  chambers,  joined 

By  no  quite  lawful  marriage  of  the  arts, 
Might  shock  a  connoisseur ;  but  when  combined 

Formed  a  whole,  which,  irregular  in  parts, 
Yet  left  a  grand  impression  on  the  mind, 

At  least  of  those  whose  eyes  were  in  their  hearts." 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  lay  open  the  scenes  of  domestic  life 
at  the  Abbey,  nor  to  describe  the  festivities  of  which  I  was  a 
partaker  during  my  sojourn  within  its  hospitable  walls.  I  wish 
merely  to  present  a  picture  of  the  edifice  itself,  and  of  those 
personages  and  circumstances  about  it,  connected  with  the  mem 
ory  of  Byron. 

I  forbear,  therefore,  to  dwell  on  my  reception  by  my  excel 
lent  and  amiable  host  and  hostess,  or  to  make  my  reader  ac 
quainted  with  the  elegant  inmates  of  the  mansion  that  I  met  in 
the  saloon ;  and  I  shall  pass  on  at  once  with  him  to  the  chamber 
allotted  me,  and  to  which  I  was  most  respectfully  conducted  by 
the  chamberlain. 

It  was  one  of  a  magnificent  suite  of  rooms,  extending  between 
the  court  of  the  cloisters  and  the  Abbey  garden,  the  windows 
looking  into  the  latter.  The  whole  suite  formed  the  ancient 
state  apartment,  and  had  fallen  into  decay  during  the  neglected 


CRAYON    MISCELLANY. 


days  of  the  Abbey,  so  as  to  be  in  a  ruinous  condition  in  the  time 
of  Lord  Byron.  It  had  since  been  restored  to  its  ancient  splen 
dor,  of  which  my  chamber  may  be  cited  as  a  specimen.  It  was 
lofty  and  well  proportioned ;  the  lower  part  of  the  walls  was 
panelled  with  ancient  oak,  the  upper  part  hung  with  goblin  ta 
pestry,  representing  oriental  hunting  scenes,  wherein  the  figures 
were  of  the  size  of  life,  and  of  great  vivacity  of  attitude  and 
color. 

The  furniture  was  antique,  dignified,  and  cumbrous.  High- 
backed  chairs  curiously  carved,  and  wrought  in  needlework ;  a 
massive  clothes-press  of  dark  oak,  well  polished,  and  inlaid  with 
landscapes  of  various  tinted  woods  ;  a  bed  of  state,  ample  and 
lofty,  so  as  only  to  be  ascended  by  a  movable  flight  of  steps,  the 
huge  posts  supporting  a  high  tester  with  a  tuft  of  crimson  plumes 
at  each  corner,  and  rich  curtains  of  crimson  damask  hanging  in 
broad  and  heavy  folds. 

A  venerable  mirror  of  plate  glass  stood  on  the  toilet,  in  which 
belles  of  former  centuries  may  have  contemplated  and  decorated 
their  charms.  The  floor  of  the  chamber  was  of  tesselated  oak, 
shining  with  wax,  and  partly  covered  by  a  Turkey  carpet.  In 
the  centre  stood  a  massy  oaken  table,  waxed  and  polished  as 
smooth  as  glass,  and  furnished  with  a  writing  desk  of  perfumed 
rosewood. 

A  sober  light  was  admitted  into  the  room  through  Gothic 
stone-shafted  casements,  partly  shaded  by  crimson  curtains,  and 
partly  overshadowed  by  the  trees  of  the  garden.  This  solemnly 
tempered  light  added  to  the  effect  of  the  stately  and  antiquated 
interior. 

Two  portraits,  suspended  over  the  doors,  were  in  keeping  with 
the  scene.  They  were  in  ancient  Vandyke  dresses  ;  one  was  a 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  289 


cavalier,  who  may  have  occupied  this  apartment  in  days  of  yore, 
the  other  was  a  lady  with  a  black-  velvet  mask  in  her  hand,  who 
may  once  have  arrayed  herself  for  conquest  at  the  very  mirror  I 
have  described. 

The  most  curious  relic  of  old  times,  however,  in  this  quaint 
but  richly  dight  apartment,  was  a  great  chimney-piece  of  panel- 
work,  carved  in  high  relief,  with  niches  or  compartments,  each 
containing  a  human  bust,  that  protruded  almost  entirely  from 
the  wall.  Some  of  the  figures  were  in  ancient  Grothic  garb  ;  the 
most  striking  among  them  was  a  female,  who  was  earnestly  re 
garded  by  a  fierce  Saracen  from  an  adjoining  niche. 

This  panel-work  is  among  the  mysteries  of  the  Abbey,  and 
causes  as  much  wide  speculation  as  the  Egyptian  hieroglyphics. 
Some  suppose  it  to  illustrate  an  adventure  in  the  Holy  Land, 
and  that  the  lady  in  effigy  had  been  rescued  by  some  crusader  of 
the  family  from  the  turbaned  Turk  who  watches  her  so  earnestly. 
What  tends  to  give  weight  to  these  suppositions  is,  that  similar 
pieces  of  panel-work  exist  in  other  parts  of  the  Abbey,  in  all  of 
which  are  to  be  seen  the  Christian  lady  and  her  Saracen  guardian 
or  lover.  At  the  bottom  of  these  sculptures  are  emblazoned  the 
armorial  bearings  of  the  Byrons. 

I  shall  not  detain  the  reader,  however,  with  any  further  de 
scription  of  my  apartment,  or  of  the  mysteries  connected  with  it. 
As  he  is  to  pass  some  days  with  me  at  the  Abbey,  we  shall  have 
time  to  examine  the  old  edifice  at  our  leisure,  and  to  make  our 
selves  acquainted,  not  merely  with  its  interior,  but  likewise  with 
its  environs. 

13 


290  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


THE  ABBEY  GARDEN. 

THE  morning  after  my  arrival,  I  rose  at  an  early  hour.  The 
daylight  was  peering  brightly  between  the  window  curtains,  and 
drawing  them  apart,  I  gazed  through  the  Gothic  casement  upon  a 
scene  that  accorded  in  character  with  the  interior  of  the  ancient 
mansion.  It  was  the  old  Abbey  garden,  but  altered  to  suit  the 
tastes  of  different  times  and  occupants.  In  one  direction  were 
shady  walks  and  alleys,  broad  terraces  and  lofty  groves  ;  in  an 
other,  beneath  a  gray  monastic-looking  angle  of  the  edifice,  over 
run  with  ivy  and  surmounted  by  a  cross,  lay  a  small  French  gar 
den,  with  formal  flower-pots,  gravelled  walks,  and  stately  stone 
balustrades. 

The  beauty  of  the  morning,  and  the  quiet  of  the  hour, 
tempted  me  to  an  early  stroll ;  for  it  is  pleasant  to  enjoy  such 
old-time  places  alone,  when  one  may  indulge  poetical  reveries,  and 
spin  cobweb  fancies,  without  interruption.  Dressing  myself, 
therefore,  with  all  speed,  I  descended  a  small  flight  of  steps  from 
the  state  apartment  into  the  long  corridor  over  the  cloisters, 
along  which  I  passed  to  a  door  at  the  farther  end.  Here  I 
emerged  into  the  open  air,  and,  descending  another  flight  of  stone 
steps,  found  myself  in  the  centre  of  what  had  once  been  the  Ab 
bey  chapel. 

Nothing  of  the  sacred  edifice  remained,  however,  but  the 
Gothic  front,  with  its  deep  portal  and  grand  lancet  window, 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  291 


already  described.  The  nave,  the  side  walls,  the  choir,  the  sa 
cristy,  all  had  disappeared.  The  open  sky  was  over  my  head,  a 
smooth  shaven  grass-plot  beneath  my  feet.  Gravel  walks  and 
shrubberies  had  succeeded  to  the  shadowy  aisles,  and  stately  trees 
to  the  clustering  columns. 

"  Where  now  the  grass  exhales  a  murky  dew, 

The  humid  pall  of  life  extinguished  clay, 
In  sainted  fame  the  sacred  fathers  grew, 

Nor  raised  their  pious  voices  but  to  pray. 
Where  now  the  bats  their  wavering  wings  extend, 

Soon  as  the  gloaming  spreads  her  warning  shade, 
The  choir  did  oft  their  mingling  vespers  blend, 

Or  matin  orisons  to  Mary  paid." 

Instead  of  the  matin  orisons  of  the  monks,  however,  the 
ruined  walls  of  the  chapel  now  resounded  to  the  cawing  of  innu 
merable  rooks  that  were  fluttering  and  hovering  about  the  dark 
grove  which  they  inhabited,  and  preparing  for  their  morning 
flight. 

My  ramble  led  me  along  quiet  alleys,  bordered  by  shrubbery, 
where  the  solitary  water-hen  would  now  and  then  scud  across  my 
path,  and  take  refuge  among  the  bushes.  From  hence  I  entered 
upon  a  broad  terraced  walk,  once  a  favorite  resort  of  the  friars, 
which  extended  the  whole  length  of  the  old  Abbey  garden,  pass 
ing  along  the  ancient  stone  wall  which  bounded  it.  In  the  centre 
of  the  garden  lay  one  of  the  monkish  fish-pools,  an  oblong  sheet 
of  water,  deep  set  like  a  mirror,  in  green  sloping  banks  of  turf. 
In  its  glassy  bosom  was  reflected  the  dark  mass  of  a  neighboring 
grove,  one  of  the  most  important  features  of  the  garden. 

This  grove  goes  by  the  sinister  name  of  "  the  Devil's  Wood," 


292  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


and  enjoys  but  an  equivocal  character  in  the  neighborhood.  It 
was  planted  by  "  The  Wicked  Lord  Byron,"  during  the  early 
part  of  his  residence  at  the  Abbey,  before  his  fatal  duel  with 
Mr.  Chaworth.  Having  something  of  a  foreign  and  classical 
taste,  he  set  up  leaden  statues  of  satyrs  or  fawns  at  each  end  of 
the  grove.  The  statues,  like  every  thing  else  about  the  old  Lord, 
fell  under  the  suspicion  and  obloquy  that  overshadowed  him  in 
the  latter  part  of  his  life.  The  country  people,  who  knew  nothing 
of  heathen  mythology  and  its  sylvan  deities,  looked  with  horror 
at  idols  invested  with  the  diabolical  attributes  of  horns  and  clo 
ven  feet.  They  probably  supposed  them  some  object  of  secret 
worship  of  the  gloomy  and  secluded  misanthrope  and  reputed 
murderer,  and  gave  them  the  name  of  "  The  old  Lord's  Devils." 

I  penetrated  the  recesses  of  the  mystic  grove.  There  stood 
the  ancient  and  much  slandered  statues,  overshadowed  by  tall 
larches,  and  stained  by  dank  green  mould.  It  is  not  a  matter  of 
surprise  that  strange  figures,  thus  behoofed  and  behorned,  and 
set  up  in  a  gloomy  grove,  should  perplex  the  minds  of  the  simple 
and  superstitious  yeomanry.  There  are  many  of  the  tastes  and 
caprices  of  the  rich,  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  uneducated  must 
savor  of  insanity. 

I  was  attracted  to  this  grove,  however,  by  memorials  of  a 
more  touching  character.  It  had  been  one  of  the  favorite  haunts 
of  the  late  Lord  Byron.  In  his  farewell  visit  to  the  Abbey,  after 
he  had  parted  with  the  possession  of  it,  he  passed  some  time  in 
this  grove,  in  company  with  his  sister  ;  and  as  a  last  memento, 
engraved  their  names  on  the  bark  of  a  tree. 

The  feelings  that  agitated  his  bosom  during  this  farewell  visit, 
when  he  beheld  round  him  objects  dear  to  his  pride,  and  dear  to 
his  juvenile  recollections,  but  of  which  the  narrowness  of  his  for- 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  293 


tune  would  not  permit  him  to  retain  possession,  may  be  gathered 
from  a  passage  in  a  poetical  epistle,  written  to  his  sister  in  after 
years : 

"  I  did  remind  you  of  our  own  dear  lake 

By  the  old  hail,  which  may  be  mine  no  more  ; 

Leman's  is  fair  ;  but  think  not  I  forsake 
The  sweet  remembrance  of  a  dearer  shore  : 

Sad  havoc  Time  must  with  my  memory  make 
Ere  that  or  thou  can  fade  these  eyes  before  ; 

Though,  like  all  things  which  I  have  loved,  they  are 

Resign'd  for  ever,  or  divided  far. 

I  feel  almost  at  times  as  I  have  felt 

In  happy  childhood  ;  trees,  and  flowers,  and  brooks, 
Which  do  remember  me  of  where  I  dwelt 

Ere  my  young  mind  was  sacrificed  to  books, 
Come  as  of  yore  upon  me,  and  can  melt 

My  heart  with  recognition  of  their  looks  ; 
And  even  at  moments  I  would  think  I  see 
Some  living  things  I  love — but  none  like  thee." 

I  searched  the  grove  for  some  time,  before  I  found  the  tree 
on  which  Lord  Byron  had  left  his  frail  memorial.  It  was  an  elm 
of  peculiar  form,  having  two  trunks,  which  sprang  from  the  same 
root,  and,  after  growing  side  by  side,  mingled  their  branches 
together.  He  had  selected  it,  doubtless,  as  emblematical  of  his 
sister  and  himself.  The  names  of  BYRON  and  AUGUSTA  were  still 
visible.  They  had  been  deeply  cut  in  the  bark,  but  the  natural 
growth  of  the  tree  was  gradually  rendering  them  illegible,  and  a 
few  years  hence,  strangers  will  seek  in  vain  for  this  record  of 
fraternal  affection. 


294  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


Leaving  the  grove,  I  continued  my  ramble  along  a  spacious 
terrace,  overlooking  what  had  once  been  the  kitchen  garden  of 
the  Abbey.  Below  me  lay  the  monks'  stew,  or  fish  pond,  a  dark 
pool,  overhung  by  gloomy  cypresses,  with  a  solitary  water-hen 
swimming  about  in  it. 

A  little  further  on,  and  the  terrace  looked  down  upon  the 
stately  scene  on  the  south  side  of  the  Abbey ;  the  flower  garden, 
with  its  stone  balustrades  and  stately  peacocks,  the  lawn,  with 
its  pheasants  and  partridges,  and  the  soft  valley  of  Newstead 
beyond. 

At  a  distance,  on  the  border  of  the  lawn,  stood  another 
memento  of  Lord  Byron  ;  an  oak  planted  by  him  in  his  boyhood, 
on  his  first  visit  to  the  Abbey.  "With  a  superstitious  feeling 
inherent  in  him,  he  linked  his  own  destiny  with  that  of  the  tree. 
"  As  it  fares,"  said  he,  "  so  will  fare  my  fortunes."  Several  years 
elapsed,  many  of  them  passed  in  idleness  and  dissipation.  He 
returned  to  the  Abbey  a  youth  scarce  grown  to  manhood,  but,  as 
he  thought,  with  vices  and  follies  beyond  his  years.  He  found 
his  emblem  oak  almost  choked  by  weeds  and  brambles,  and  took 
the  lesson  to  himself. 

"  Young  oak,  when  I  planted  thee  deep  in  the  ground, 
I  hoped  that  thy  days  would  be  longer  than  mine, 
That  thy  dark  waving  branches  would  flourish  around, 
And  ivy  thy  trunjc  with  its  mantle  entwine. 

Such,  such  was  my  hope — when  in  infancy's  years 
On  the  land  of  my  fathers  I  reared  thee  with  pride  ; 

They  are  past,  and  I  water  thy  stem  with  my  tears — 
Thy  decay  not  the  weeds  that  surround  thee  can  hide." 

I  leaned  over  the  stone  balustrade  of  the  terrace,  and  gazed 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  295 


upon  the  valley  of  Newstead,  with  its  silver  sheets  of  water 
gleaming  in  the  morning  sun.  It  was  a  Sabbath  morning,  which 
always  seems  to  have  a  hallowed  influence  over  the  landscape, 
probably  from  the  quiet  of  the  day,  and  the  cessation  of  all  kinds 
of  week-day  labor.  As  I  mused  upon  the  mild  and  beautiful 
scene,  and  the  wayward  destinies  of  the  man,  whose  stormy 
temperament  forced  him  from  this  tranquil  paradise  to  battle 
with  the  passions  and  perils  of  the  world,  the  sweet  chime  of 
bells  from  a  village  a  few  miles  distant  came  stealing  up  the 
valley.  Every  sight  and  sound  this  morning  seemed  calculated 
to  summon  up  touching  recollections  of  poor  Byron.  The  chime 
was  from  the  village  spire  of  Hucknall  Torkard,  beneath  which 
his  remains  lie  buried  ! 

•-  I  have  since  visited  his  tomb.     It  is  in  an  old  gray 

country  church,  venerable  with  the  lapse  of  centuries.  He  lies 
buried  beneath  the  pavement,  at  one  end  of  the  principal  aisle. 
A  light  falls  on  the  spot  through  the  stained  glass  of  a  Gothic 
window,  and  a  tablet  on  the  adjacent  wall  announces  the  family 
vault  of  the  Byrons.  It  had  been  the  wayward  intention  of  the 
poet  to  be  entombed,  with  his  faithful  dog,  in  the  monument 
erected  by  him  in  the  garden  of  Newstead  Abbey.  His  execu 
tors  showed  better  judgment  and  feeling,  in  consigning  his  ashes 
to  the  family  sepulchre,  to  mingle  with  those  of  his  mother  and 
his  kindred.  Here, 

"  After  life's  fitful  fever,  he  sleeps  well. 

Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing 

Can  touch  him  further  !" 

How  nearly  did  his  dying  hour  realize  the  wish  made  by  him, 
but  a  few  years  previously,  in  one  of  his  fitful  moods  of  melan 
choly  and  misanthropy: 


296  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


"  When  time,  or  soon  or  late,  shall  bring 

The  dreamless  sleep  that  lulls  the  dead, 
Oblivion  !  may  thy  languid  wing 
Wave  gently  o'er  my  dying  bed  ! 

No  band  of  friends  or  heirs  be  there, 

To  weep  or  wish  the  coming  blow  : 
No  maiden  with  dishevelled  hair, 

To  feel,  or  feign  decorous  woe. 

But  silent  let  me  sink  to  earth, 

With  no  officious  mourners  near : 
I  woul  not  mar  one  hour  of  mirth, 

Nor  startle  friendship  with  a  tear." 

He  died  among  strangers,  in  a  foreign  land,  without  a  kindred 
hand  to  close  his  eyes ;  yet  he  did  not  die  unwept.  With  all  his 
faults  and  errors,  and  passions  and  caprices,  he  had  the  gift  of 
attaching  his  humble  dependents  warmly  to  him.  One  of  them, 
a  poor  Greek,  accompanied  his  remains  to  England,  and  followed 
them  to  the  grave.  I  am  told  that,  during  the  ceremony,  he 
stood  holding  on  by  a  pew  in  an  agony  of  grief,  and  when  all  was 
over,  seemed  as  if  he  would  have  gone  down  into  the  tomb  with 
the  body  of  his  master. — A  nature  that  could  inspire  such 
attachments,  must  have  been  generous  and  beneficent. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  297 


PLOUGH  MONDAY. 

SHERWOOD  Forest  is  a  region  that  still  retains  much  of  the  quaint 
customs  and  holiday  games  of  the  olden  time.  A  day  or  two 
after  my  arrival  at  the  Abbey,  as  I  was  walking  in  the  cloisters, 
I  heard  the  sound  of  rustic  music,  and  now  and  then  a  burst  of 
merriment,  proceeding  from  the  interior  of  the  mansion.  Pre 
sently  the  chamberlain  came  and  informed  me  that  a  party  of 
country  lads  were  in  the  servants'  hall,  performing  Plough 
Monday  antics,  and  invited  me  to  witness  their  mummery.  I 
gladly  assented,  for  I  am  somewhat  curious  about  these  relics  of 
popular  usages.  The  servants'  hall  was  a  fit  place  for  the  exhibi 
tion  of  an  old  Gothic  game.  It  was  a  chamber  of  great  extent, 
which,  in  monkish  times  had  been  the  refectory  of  the  Abbey. 
A  row  of  massive  columns  extended  lengthwise  through  the  cen 
tre,  whence  sprung  Gothic  arches,  supporting  the  low  vaulted 
ceiling.  Here  was  a  set  of  rustics  dressed  up  in  something  of 
the  style  represented  in  the  books  concerning  popular  antiquities. 
One  was  in  a  rough  garb  of  frieze,  with  his  head  muffled  in  bear 
skin,  and  a  bell  dangling  behind  him,  that  jingled  at  every  move 
ment.  He  was  the  clown,  or  fool  of  the  party,  probably  a  tradi 
tional  representative  of  the  ancient  satyr.  The  rest  were  deco 
rated  with  ribands  and  armed  with  wooden  swords.  The  leader 
of  the  troop  recited  the  old  ballad  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon, 

13* 


298  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


which  had  been  current  among  the  country  people  for  ages ;  his 
companions  accompanied  the  recitation  with  some  rude  attempt 
at  acting,  while  the  clown  cut  all  kinds  of  antics. 

To  these  succeeded  a  set  of  morris-dancers,  gayly  dressed 
up  with  ribands  and  hawks'-bells.  In  this  troop  we  had  Robin 
Hood  and  Maid  Marian,  the  latter  represented  by  a  smooth-faced 
boy :  also,  Beelzebub,  equipped  with  a  broom,  and  accompanied  by 
his  wife  Bessy,  a  termagant  old  beldame.  These  rude  pageants 
are  the  lingering  remains  of  the  old  customs  of  Plough  Monday, 
when  bands  of  rustics,  fantastically  dressed,  and  furnished  with 
pipe  and  tabor,  dragged  what  was  called  the  "  fool  plough  "  from 
house  to  house,  singing  ballads  and  performing  antics,  for  which 
they  were  rewarded  with  money  and  good  cheer. 

But  it  is  not  in  "  merry  Sherwood  Forest "  alone  that  these 
remnants  of  old  times  prevail.  They  are  to  be  met  with  in  most 
of  the  counties  north  of  the  Trent,  which  classic  stream  seems  to 
be  the  boundary  line  of  primitive  customs.  During  my  recent 
Christmas  sojourn  at  Barlboro'  Hall,  on  the  skirts  of  Derbyshire 
and  Yorkshire,  I  had  witnessed  many  of  the  rustic  festivities 
peculiar  to  that  joyous  season,  which  have  rashly  been  pronounced 
obsolete,  by  those  who  draw  tbeir  experience  merely  from  city 
life.  I  had  seen  the  great  Yule  clog  put  on  the  fire  on  Christ 
mas  Eve,  and  the  wassail  bowl  sent  round,  brimming  with  its 
spicy  beverage.  I  had  heard  carols  beneath  my  window  by  the 
choristers  of  the  neighboring  village,  who  went  their  rounds 
about  the  ancient  Hall  at  midnight,  according  to  immemorial 
custom.  We  had  mummers  and  mimers  too,  with  the  story  of 
St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  and  other  ballads  and  traditional 
dialogues,  together  with  the  famous  old  interlude  of  the  Hobby 
Horse,  all  represented  in  the  antechamber  and  servants'  hall  by 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  299 


rustics,  who  inherited  the  custom  and  the  poetry  from  preceding 
generations. 

The  boar's  head,  crowned  with  rosemar}^  had  taken  its 
honored  station  among  the  Christmas  cheer  ;  the  festal  board  had 
been  attended  by  glee  singers  and  minstrels  from  the  village  to 
entertain  the  company  with  hereditary  songs  and  catches  during 
their  repast ;  and  the  old  Pyrrhic  game  of  the  sword  dance, 
handed  down  since  the  time  of  the  Romans,  was  admirably  per 
formed  in  the  court-yard  of  the  mansion  by  a  band  of  young 
men,  lithe  and  supple  in  their  forms  and  graceful  in  their  move 
ments,  who,  I  was  told,  went  the  rounds  of  the  villages  and 
country  seats  during  the  Christmas  holidays. 

I  specify  these  rural  pageants  and  ceremonials,  which  I  saw 
during  my  sojourn  in  this  neighborhood,  because  it  has  been 
deemed  that  some  of  the  anecdotes  of  holiday  customs  given  in 
my  preceding  writings,  related  to  usages  which  have  entirely 
passed  away.  Critics  who  reside  in  cities  have  little  idea  of  the 
primitive  manners  and  observances,  which  still  prevail  in  remote 
and  rural  neighborhoods. 

In  fact,  in  crossing  the  Trent  one  seems  to  step  back  into  old 
times  ;  and  in  the  villages  of  Sherwood  Forest  we  are  in  a  black- 
letter  region.  The  moss-green  cottages,  the  lowly  mansions  of 
gray  stone,  the  Gothic  crosses  at  each  end  of  the  villages,  and  the 
tall  May  pole  in  the  centre,  transport  us  in  imagination  to  fore 
gone  centuries ;  every  thing  has  a  quaint  and  antiquated  air. 

The  tenantry  on  the  Abbey  estate  partake  of  this  primitive 
character.  Some  of  the  families  have  rented  farms  there  for 
nearly  three  hundred  years  ;  and,  notwithstanding  that  their 
mansions  fell  to  decay,  and  every  thing  about  them  partook  of 
the  general  waste  and  misrule  of  the  Byron  dynasty,  yet  nothing 


300  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


could  uproot  them  from  their  native  soil  I  am  happy  to  say, 
that  Colonel  Wildman  has  taken  these  stanch  loyal  families  under 
his  peculiar  care.  He  has  favored  them  in  their  rents,  repaired, 
or  rather  rebuilt  their  farmhouses,  and  has  enabled  families  that 
had  almost  sunk  into  the  class  of  mere  rustic  laborers,  once  more 
to  hold  up  their  heads  among  the  yeomanry  of  the  land. 

I  visited  one  of  these  renovated  establishments  that  had  but 
lately  been  a  mere  ruin,  and  now  was  a  substantial  grange.  It 
was  inhabited  by  a  young  couple.  The  good  woman  showed  every 
part  of  the  establishment  with  decent  pride,  exulting  in  its  com 
fort  and  respectability.  Her  husband,  I  understood,  had  risen 
in  consequence  with  the  improvement  of  his  mansion,  and  now 
began  to  be  known  among  his  rustic  neighbors  by  the  appellation 
of  "  the  young  Squire." 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  301 


OLD  SERVANTS. 

IN  an  old,  time-worn,  and  mysterious  looking  mansion  like  New- 
stead  Abbey,  and  one  so  haunted  by  monkish,  and  feudal,  and 
poetical  associations,  it  is  a  prize  to  meet  with  some  ancient  crone, 
who  has  passed  a  long  life  about  the  place,  so  as  to  have  become 
a  living  chronicle  of  its  fortunes  and  vicissitudes.  Such  a  one  is 
Nanny  Smith,  a  worthy  dame,  near  seventy  years  of  age,  who 
for  a  long  time  served  as  housekeeper  to  the  Byrons.  The 
Abbey  and  its  domains  comprise  her  world,  beyond  which  she 
knows  nothing,  but  within  which  she  has  ever  conducted  herself 
with  native  shrewdness  and  old-fashioned  honesty.  When  Lord 
Byron  sold  the  Abbey  her  vocation  was  at  end,  still  she  lingered 
about  the  place,  having  for  it  the  local  attachment  of  a  cat. 
Abandoning  her  comfortable  housekeeper's  apartment,  she  took 
shelter  in  one  of  the  "  rock  houses,"  which  are  nothing  more 
than  a  little  neighborhood  of  cabins,  excavated  in  the  perpendic 
ular  walls  of  a  stone  quarry,  at  no  great  distance  from  the  Abbey. 
Three  cells  cut  in  the  living  rock,  formed  her  dwelling ;  these 
she  fitted  up  humbly  but  comfortably ;  her  son  William  labored 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  aided  to  support  her,  and  Nanny  Smith 
maintained  a  cheerful  aspect  and  an  independent  spirit.  One  of 
her  gossips  suggested  to  her  that  William  should  marry,  and 
bring  home  a  young  wife  to  help  her  and  take  care  of  her. 


302  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


"  Nay,  nay,"  replied  Nanny,  tartly,  "  I  want  no  young  mistress 
in  my  house}''  So  much  for  the  love  of  rule — poor  Nanny's  house 
was  a  hole  in  a  rock  ! 

Colonel  Wildman.  on  taking  possession  of  the  Abbey,  found 
Nanny  Smith  thus  humbly  nestled.  With  that  active  benevo 
lence  which  characterizes  him,  he  immediately  set  William  up  in 
a  small  farm  on  the  estate,  where  Nanny  Smith  has  a  comfortable 
mansion  in  her  old  days.  Her  pride  is  roused  by  her  son's  ad 
vancement.  She  remarks  with  exultation  that  people  treat  Wil 
liam  with  much  more  respect  now  that  he  is  a  farmer,  than  they 
did  when  he  was  a  laborer.  A  farmer  of  the  neighborhood  has 
even  endeavored  to  make  a  match  between  him  and  his  sister, 
but  Nanny  Smith  has  grown  fastidious,  and  interfered.  The 
girl,  she  said,  was  too  old  for  her  son,  besides,  she  did  not  see 
that  he  was  in  any  need  of  a  wife. 

"  No,"  said  William,  "  I  ha'  no  great  mind  to  marry  the 
wench  :  but  if  the  Colonel  and  his  lady  wish  it,  I  am  willing. 
They  have  been  so  kind  to  me  that  I  should  think  it  my  duty  to 
please  them."  The  Colonel  and  his  lady,  however,  have  not 
thought  proper  to  put  honest  William's  gratitude  to  so  severe  a 
test. 

Another  worthy  whom  Colonel  Wildman  found  vegetating 
upon  the  place,  and  who  had  lived  there  for  at  least  sixty  years, 
was  old  Joe  Murray.  He  had  come  there  when  a  mere  boy  in 
the  train  of  the  "  old  lord,"  about  the  middle  of  the  last  century, 
and  had  continued  with  him  until  his  death.  Having  been  a 
cabin  boy  when  very  young,  Joe  always  fancied  himself  a  bit  of 
a  sailor,  and  had  charge  of  all  the  pleasure-boats  on  the  lake, 
though  he  afterwards  rose  to  the  dignity  of  butler.  In  the  latter 
days  of  the  old  Lord  Byron,  when  he  shut  himself  up  from  all 


NEWSTEAD   ABBEY.  303 


the  world,  Joe  Murray  was  the  only  servant  retained  by  him, 
excepting  his  housekeeper,  Betty  Hardstaff,  who  was  reputed  to 
have  an  undue  sway  over  him,  and  was  derisively  called  Lady 
Betty  among  the  country  folk. 

When  the  Abbey  came  into  the  possession  of  the  late  Lord 
Byron,  Joe  Murray  accompanied  it  as  a  fixture.  He  was  rein 
stated  as  butler  in  the  Abbey,  and  high  admiral  on  the  lake,  and 
his  sturdy  honest  mastiff  qualities  won  so  upon  Lord  Byron  as 
even  to  rival  his  Newfoundland  dog  in  his  affections.  Often 
when  dining,  he  would  pour  out  a  bumper  of  choice  Madeira,  and 
hand  it  to  Joe  as  he  stood  behind  his  chair.  In  fact,  when  he 
built  the  monumental  tomb  which  stands  in  the  Abbey  garden, 
he  intended  it  for  himself,  Joe  Murray,  and  the  dog.  The  two 
latter  were  to  lie  on  each  side  of  him.  Boatswain  died  not  long 
afterwards,  and  was  regularly  interred,  and  the  well-known  epi 
taph  inscribed  on  one  side  of  the  monument.  Lord  Byron  de 
parted  for  G-reece  ;  during  his  absence,  a  gentleman  to  whom  Joe 
Murray  was  showing,  the  tomb,  observed,  "  Well,  old  boy,  you 
will  take  your  place  here  some  twenty  years  hence." 

"  I  don't  know  that,  sir,"  growled  Joe,  in  reply,  "  if  I  was 
sure  his  Lordship  would  come  here,  I  should  like  it  well  enough, 
but  I  should  not  like  to  lie  alone  with  the  dog." 

Joe  Murray  was  always  extremely  neat  in  his  dress,  and 
attentive  to  his  person,  and  made  a  most  respectable  appearance. 
A  portrait  of  him  still  hangs  in  the  Abbey,  representing  him  a 
hale  fresh  looking  fellow,  in  a  flaxen  wig,  a  blue  coat  and  buff 
waistcoat,  with  a  pipe  in  his  hand.  He  discharged  all  the  duties 
of  his  station  with  great  fidelity,  unquestionable  honesty,  and 
much  outward  decorum,  but,  if  we  may  believe  his  contemporary, 
Nanny  Smith,  who,  as  housekeeper,  shared  the  sway  of  the 


304  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


household  with  him,  he  was  very  lax  in  his  minor  morals,  and 
used  to  sing  loose  and  profane  songs  as  he  presided  at  the  table 
in  the  servants'  hall,  or  sat  taking  his  ale  and  smoking  his  pipe 
by  the  evening  fire.  Joe  had  evidently  derived  his  convivial  no 
tions  from  the  race  of  English  country  squires  who  flourished  in* 
the  days  of  his  juvenility.  Nanny  Smith  was  scandalized  at  his 
ribald  songs,  but  being  above  harm  herself,  endured  them  in 
silence.  At  length,  on  his  singing  them  before  a  young  girl  of 
sixteen,  she  could  contain  herself  no  longer,  but  read  him  a  lec 
ture  that  made  his  ears  ring,  and  then  flounced  off  to  bed.  The 
lecture  seems,  by  her  account,  to  have  staggered  Joe,  for  he  told 
her  the  next  morning  that  he  had  had  a  terrible  dream  in  the 
night.  An  Evangelist  stood  at  the  foot  of  his  bed  with  a  great 
Dutch  Bible,  which  he  held  with  the  printed  part  towards  him, 
and  after  a  while  pushed  it  in  his  face.  Nanny  Smith  undertook 
to  interpret  the  vision,  and  read  from  it  such  a  homily,  and  de 
duced  such  awful  warnings,  that  Joe  became  quite  serious,  left 
off  singing,  and  took  to  reading  good  books  for  a  month  ;  but 
after  that,  continued  Nanny,  he  relapsed  and  became  as  bad  as 
ever,  and  continued  to  sing  loose  and  profane  songs  to  his  dy 
ing  day. 

When  Colonel  Wildman  became  proprietor  of  the  Abbey  he 
found  Joe  Murray  flourishing  in  a  green  old  age,  though  upwards 
of  fourscore,  and  continued  him  in  his  station  as  butler.  The 
old  man  was  rejoiced  at  the  extensive  repairs  that  were  immedi 
ately  commenced,  and  anticipated  with  pride  the  day  when  the 
Abbey  should  rise  out  of  its  ruins  with  renovated  splendor,  its 
gates  be  thronged  with  trains  and  equipages,  and  its  halls  once 
more  echo  to  the  sound  of  joyous  hospitality. 

What  chiefly,  however,  concerned  Joe's  pride  and  ambition, 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  305 


was  a  plan  of  the  Colonel's  to  have  the  ancient  refectory  of  the 
convent,  a  great  vaulted  room,  supported  by  Gothic  columns,  con 
verted  into  a  servants'  hall.  Here  Joe  looked  forward  to  rule 
the  roast  at  the  head  of  the  servants'  table,  and  to  make  the 
Gothic  arches  ring  with  those  hunting  and  hard-drinking  ditties 
which  were  the  horror  of  the  discreet  Nanny  Smith.  Time,  how 
ever,  was  fast  wearing  away  with  him,  and  his  great  fear  was  that 
the  hall  would  not  be  completed  in  his  day.  In  his  eagerness  to 
hasten  the  repairs,  he  used  to  get  up  early  in  the  morning,  and 
ring  up  the  workmen.  Notwithstanding  his  great  age,  also,  he 
would  turn  out  half-dressed  in  cold  weather  to  cut  sticks  for  the 
fire.  Colonel  Wildman  kindly  remonstrated  with  him  for  thus 
risking  his  health,  as  others  would  do  the  work  for  him. 

"  Lord,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  hale  old  fellow,  "  it's  my  air  bath, 
I'm  all  the  better  for  it." 

Unluckily,  as  he  was  thus  employed  one  morning  a  splicer 
flew  up  and  wounded  one  of  his  eyes.  An  inflammation  took 
place ;  he  lost  the  sight  of  that  eye,  and  subsequently  of  the 
other.  Poor  Joe  gradually  pined  away,  and  grew  melancholy. 
Colonel  Wildman  kindly  tried  to  cheer  him  up — "  Come,  come, 
old  boy,"  cried  he,  "  be  of  good  heart,  you  will  yet  take  your 
place  in  the  servants'  hall." 

"  Nay,  nay,  sir,"  replied  he,  "  I  did  hope  once  that  I  should 
live  to  see  it — I  looked  forward  to  it  with  pride,  I  confess,  but  it 
is  all  over  with  me  now — I  shall  soon  go  home  !" 

He  died  shortly  afterwards,  at  the  advanced  age  of  eighty-six, 
seventy  of  which  had  been  passed  as  an  honest  and  faithful  ser 
vant  at  the  Abbey.  Colonel  Wildman  had  him  decently  interred 
in  the  church  of  Hucknall  Torkard,  near  the  vault  of  Lord 
Byron. 


306  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


SUPERSTITIONS  OF  THE  ABBEY. 

THE  anecdotes  I  had  heard  of  the  quondam  housekeeper  of  Lord 
Byron,  rendered  me  desirous  of  paying  her  a  visit.  I  rode  in 
company  with  Colonel  Wildman,  therefore,  to  the  cottage  of  her 
son  William,  where  she  resides,  and  found  her  seated  by  her  fire 
side,  with  a  favorite  cat  perched  upon  her  shoulder  and  purring 
in  her  ear.  Nanny  Smith  is  a  large,  good-looking  woman,  a  speci 
men  of  the  old-fashioned  country  housewife,  combining  antiquated 
notions  and  prejudices,  and  very  limited  information,  with  natu 
ral  good  sense.  She  loves  to  gossip  about  the  Abbey  and  Lord 
Byron,  and  was  soon  drawn  into  a  course  of  anecdotes,  though 
mostly  of  an  humble  kind,  such  as  suited  the  meridian  of  the 
housekeeper's  room  and  servants'  hall.  She  seemed  to  entertain 
a  kind  recollection  of  Lord  Byron,  though  she  had  evidently 
been  much  perplexed  by  some  of  his  vagaries  ;  and  especially  by 
the  means  he  adopted  to  counteract  his  tendency  to  corpulency. 
He  used  various  modes  to  sweat  himself  down ;  sometimes  he 
would  lie  for  a  long  time  in  a  warm  bath,  sometimes  he  would 
walk  up  the  hills  in  the  park,  wrapped  up  and  loaded  with  great 
coats  ;  "  a  sad  toil  for  the  poor  youth,"  added  Nanny,  "  he  being 
so  lame." 

His  meals  were  scanty  and  irregular,  consisting  of  dishes 
which  Nanny  seemed  to  hold  in  great  contempt,  such  as  pilaw, 
maccaroni,  and  light  puddings. 


NEWSTEAD   ABBEY.  307 


.  She  contradicted  the  report  of  the  licentious  life  which  he 
was  reported  to  lead  at  the  Abbey,  and  of  the  paramours  said  to 
have  been  brought  with  him  from  London.  "  A  great  part  of  his 
time  used  to  be  passed  lying  on  a  sofa  reading.  Sometimes  he 
had  young  gentlemen  of  his  acquaintance  with  him,  and  they 
played  some  mad  pranks  ;  but  nothing  but  what  young  gentlemen 
may  do,  and  no  harm  done." 

"  Once,  it  is  true,"  she  added.  "  he  had  with  him  a  beautiful 
boy  as  a  page,  which  the  housemaids  said  was  a  girl.  For  my 
part,  I  know  nothing  about  it.  Poor  soul,  he  was  so  lame  he 
could  not  go  out  much  with  the  men ;  all  the  comfort  he  had  was 
to  be  a  little  with  the  lasses.  The  housemaids,  however,  were 
very  jealous  ;  one  of  them,  in  particular,  took  the  matter  in  great 
dudgeon.  Her  name  was  Lucy ;  she  was  a  great  favorite  with 
Lord  Byron,  and  had  been  much  noticed  by  him,  and  began  to 
have  high  notions.  She  had  her  fortune  told  by  a  man  who 
squinted,  to  whom  she  gave  two-and-sixpen.ee.  He  told  her  to 
hold  up  her  head  and  look  high,  for  she  would  come  to  great 
things.  Upon  this,"  added  Nanny,  "the.  poor  thing  dreamt  of 
nothing  less  than  becoming  a  lady,  and  mistress  of  the  Abbey  ; 
and  promised  me,  if  such  luck  should  happen  to  her.  she  would 
be  a  good  friend  to  me.  Ah  well-a-day  !  Lucy  never  had  the 
fine  fortune  she  dreamt  of;  but  she  had  better  than  I  thought 
for ;  she  is  now  married,  and  keeps  a  public  house  at  Warwick." 

Finding  that  we  listened  to  her  with  great  attention,  Nanny 
Smith  went  on  with  her  gossiping.  "  One  time,"  said  she, 
"  Lord  Byron  took  a  notion  that  there  was  a  deal  of  money  buried 
about  the  Abbey  by  the  monks  in  old  times,  and  nothing  would 
serve  him  but  he  mu»st  have  the  nagging  taken  up  in  the  cloisters  ; 
and  they  digged  and  digged,  but  found  nothing  but  stone  coffins 


308  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


full  of  bones.  Then  he  must  needs  have  one  of  the  coffins  put 
in  one  end  of  the  great  hall,  so  that  the  servants  were  afraid  to 
go  there  of  nights.  Several  of  the  skulls  were  cleaned  and  put 
in  frames  in  his  room.  I  used  to  have  to  go  into  the  room  at 
night  to  shut  the  windows,  and  if  I  glanced  an  eye  at  them,  they 
all  seemed  to  grin  ;  which  I  believe  skulls  always  do.  I  can't 
say  but  I  was  glad  to  get  out  of  the  room. 

"  There  was  at  one  time  (and  for  that  matter  there  is  still)  a 
good  deal  said  about  ghosts  haunting  about  the  Abbey.  The 
keeper's  wife  said  she  saw  two  standing  in  a  dark  part  of  the 
cloisters  just  opposite  the  chapel,  and  one  in  the  garden  by  the 
lord's  well.  Then  there  was  a  young  lady,  a  cousin  of  Lord 
Byron,  who  was  staying  in  the  Abbey  and  slept  in  the  room  next 
the  clock ;  and  she  told  me  that  one  night  when  she  was  lying  in 
bed,  she  saw  a  lady  in  white  come  out  of  the  wall  on  one  side  of 
the  room,  and  go  into  the  wall  on  the  opposite  side. 

"  Lord  Byron  one  day  said  to  me,  '  Nanny,  what  nonsense 
they  tell  about  ghosts,  as  if  there  ever  were  any  such  things.  I 
have  never  seen  any  thing  of  the  kind  about  the  Abbey,  and  I 
warrant  you  have  not.'  This  was  all  done,  do  you  see,  to  draw 
me  out ;  but  I  said  nothing,  but  shook  my  head.  However,  they 
say  his  lordship  did  once  see  something.  It  was  in  the  great 
hall — something  all  black  and  hairy  :  he  said  it  was  the  devil. 

"  For  my  part,"  continued  Nanny  Smith,  "  I  never  saw  any 
thing  of  the  kind — but  I  heard  something  once.  I  was  one  eve 
ning  scrubbing  the  floor  of  the  little  dining-room  at  the  end  of 
the  long  gallery  ;  it  was  after  dark  ;  I  expected  every  moment  to 
be  called  to  tea,  but  wished  to  finish  what  I  was  about.  All  at 
once  I  heard  heavy  footsteps  in  the  great  hall.  They  sounded 
like  the  tramp  of  a  horse.  I  took  the  light  and  went  to  see  what 


NEWSTEAD   ABBEY.  309 


it  was.  I  heard  the  steps  come  from  the  lower  end  of  the  hall 
to  the  fireplace  in  the  centre,  where  they  stopped  ;  but  I  could 
see  nothing.  I  returned  to  my  work,  and  in  a  little  time  heard 
the  same  noise  again.  I  went  again  with  the  light ;  the  footsteps 
stopped  by  the  fireplace  as  before  ;  still  I  could  see  nothing.  I 
returned  to  my  work,  when  I  heard  the  steps  for  a  third  time. 
I  then  went  into  the  hall  without  a  light,  but  they  stopped  just 
the  same,  by  the  fireplace  half  way  up  the  hall.  I  thought  this 
rather  odd,  but  returned  to  my  work.  When  it  was  finished,  I 
took  the  light  and  went  through  the  hall,  as  that  was  my  way  to 
the  kitchen.  I  heard  no  more  footsteps,  and  thought  no  more  of 
the  matter,  when,  on  coming  to  the  lower  end  of  the  hall,  I  found 
the  door  locked,  and  then,  on  one  side  of  the  door,  I  saw  the 
stone  coffin  with  the  skull  and  bones  that  had  been  digged  up  in 
the  cloisters." 

Here  Nanny  paused :  I  asked  her  if  she  believed  that  the 
mysterious  footsteps  had  any  connection  with  the  skeleton  in  the 
coffin  ;  but  she  shook  her  head,  and  would  not  commit  herself. 
We  took  our  leave  of  the  good  old  dame  shortly  after,  and  the 
story  she  had  related  gave  subject  for  conversation  on  our  ride 
homeward.  It  was  evident  she  had  spoken  the  truth  as  to  what 
she  had  heard,  but  had  been  deceived  by  some  peculiar  effect  of 
sound.  Noises  are  propagated  about  a  huge  irregular  edifice  of 
the  kind  in  a  very  deceptive  manner  ;  footsteps  are  prolonged 
and  reverberated  by  the  vaulted  cloisters  and  echoing  halls  ;  the 
creaking  and  slamming  of  distant  gates,  the  rushing  of  the  blast 
through  the  groves  and  among  the  ruined  arches  of  the  chapel, 
have  all  a  strangely  delusive  effect  at  night. 

Colonel  Wildman  gave  an  instance  of  the  kind  from  his  own 
experience.  Not  long  after  he  had  taken  up  his  residence  at  the 


310  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


Abbey,  he  heard  one  moonlight  night  a  noise  as  if  a  carriage  was 
passing  at  a  distance.  He  opened  the  window  and  leaned  out. 
It  then  seemed  as  if  the  great  iron  roller  was  dragged  along  the 
gravel  walks  and  terrace,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen. 
When  he  saw  the  gardener  on  the  following  morning,  he  ques 
tioned  him  about  working  so  late  at  night.  The  gardener  de 
clared  that  no  one  had  been  at  work,  and  the  roller  was  chained 
up.  He  was  sent  to  examine  it,  and  came  back  with  a  counte 
nance  full  of  surprise.  The  roller  had  been  moved  in  the  night, 
but  he  declared  no  mortal  hand  could  have  moved  it.  "  Well," 
replied  the  Colonel,  good-humoredly,  "  I  am  glad  to  find  I  have  a 
brownie  to  work  for  me." 

Lord  Byron  did  much  to  foster  and  give  currency  to  the 
superstitious  tales  connected  with  the  Abbey,  by  believing,  or 
pretending  to  believe  in  them.  Many  have  supposed  that  his 
mind  was  really  tinged  with  superstition,  and  that  this  innate 
infirmity  was  increased  by  passing  much  of  his  time  in  a  lonely 
way,  about  the  empty  halls  and  cloisters  of  the  Abbey,  then 
in  a  ruinous  melancholy  state,  and  brooding  over  the  skulls  and 
effigies  of  its  former  inmates.  I  should  rather  think  that  he 
found  poetical  enjoyment  in  these  supernatural  themes,  and  that 
his  imagination  delighted  to  people  this  gloomy  and  romantic  pile 
with  all  kinds  of  shadowy  inhabitants.  Certain  it  is,  the  aspect 
of  the  mansion  under  the  varying  influence  of  twilight  and  moon 
light,  and  cloud  and  sunshine  operating  upon  its  halls,  and  galle 
ries,  and  monkish  cloisters,  is  enough  to  breed  all  kinds  of  fancies 
in  the  minds  of  its  inmates,  especially  if  poetically  or  supersti- 
tiously  inclined. 

I  have  already  mentioned  some  of  the  fabled  visitants  of  the 
Abbey.  The  goblin  friar,  however,  is  the  one  to  whom  Lord  Byron 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  311 


has  given  the  greatest  importance.  It  walked  the  cloisters  by 
night,  and  sometimes  glimpses  of  it  were  seen  in  other  parts  of 
the  Abbey.  Its  appearance  was  said  to  portend  some  impending 
evil  to  the  master  of  the  mansion.  Lord  Byron  pretended  to 
have  seen  it  about  a  month  before  he  contracted  his  ill-starred 
marriage  with  Miss  Milbanke. 

He  has  embodied  this  tradition  in  the  following  ballad,  in 
which  he  represents  the  friar  as  one  of  the  ancient  inmates  of 
the  Abbey,  maintaining  by  night  a  kind  of  spectral  possession  of 
it,  in  right  of  the  fraternity.  Other  traditions,  however,  repre 
sent  him  as  one  of  the  friars  doomed  to  wander  about  the  place 
in  atonement  for  his  crimes.  But  to  the  ballad — 

"  Beware  !  beware  !  of  the  Black  Friar, 

Who  sitteth  by  Norman  stone, 
For  he  mutters  his  prayer  in  the  midnight  air, 

And  his  mass  of  the  days  that  are  gone. 
When  the  Lord  of  the  Hill,  Amundeville, 

Made  Norman  Church  his  prey, 
And  expell'd  the  friars,  one  friar  still 

Would  not  be  driven  away. 

Though  he  came  in  his  might,  with  King  Henry's  right, 

To  turn  church  lands  to  lay, 
With  sword  in  hand,  and  torch  to  light 

Their  walls,  if  they  said  nay, 
A  monk  remain'd,  unchased,  unchain'd, 

And  he  did  not  seem  form'd  of  clay, 
For  he's  seen  in  the  porch,  and  he's  seen  in  the  church, 

Though  he  is  not  seen  by  day. 

And  whether  for  good,  or  whether  for  ill, 
It  is  not  mine  to  say  ; 


312  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


But  still  to  the  house  of  Amundeville 

He  abideth  night  and  day. 
By  the  marriage  bed  of  their  lords,  'tis  said, 

He  flits  on  the  bridal  eve  ; 
And  'tis  held  as  faith,  to  their  bed  of  death, 

He  comes — but  not  to  grieve. 

When  an  heir  is  born,  he  is  heard  to  mourn, 

And  when  aught  is  to  befall 
That  ancient  line,  in  the  pale  moonshine 

He  walks  from  hall  to  hall. 
His  form  you  may  trace,  but  not  his  face, 

'Tis  shadow'd  by  his  cowl  ; 
But  his  eyes  may  be  seen  from  the  folds  between, 

And  they  seem  of  a  parted  soul. 

But  beware  !  beware  of  the  Black  Friar, 

He  still  retains  his  sway, 
For  he  is  yet  the  church's  heir, 

Whoever  may  be  the  lay. 
Amundeville  is  lord  by  day, 

But  the  monk  is  lord  by  night, 
Nor  wine  nor  wassail  could  raise  a  vassal 

To  question  that  friar's  right. 

Say  nought  to  him  as  he  walks  the  hall, 

And  he'll  say  nought  to  you  ; 
He  sweeps  along  in  his  dusky  pall, 

As  o'er  the  grass  the  dew. 
Then  gramercy  !  for  the  Black  Friar ; 

Heaven  sain  him  !    fair  or  foul, 
And  whatsoe'er  may  be  his  player 

Let  ours  be  for  his  soul." 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  313 

Such  is  the  story  of  the  goblin  friar,  which,  partly  through 
old  tradition,  and  partly  through  the  influence  of  Lord  Byron's 
rhymes,  has  become  completely  established  in  the  Abbey,  and 
threatens  to  hold  possession  as  long  as  the  old  edifice  shall  en 
dure.  Various  visitors  have  either  fancied,  or  pretended  to  have 
seen  him,  and  a  cousin  of  Lord  Byron,  Miss  Sally  Parkins,  is 
even  said  to  have  made  a  sketch  of  him  from  memory.  As  to  the 
servants  at  the  Abbey,  they  have  become  possessed  with  all  kinds 
of  superstitious  fancies.  The  long  corridors  and  G-othic  halls, 
with  their  ancient  portraits  and  dark  figures  in  armor,  are  all 
haunted  regions  to  them ;  they  even  fear  to  sleep  alone,  and  will 
scarce  venture  at  night  on  any  distant  errand  about  the  Abbey 
unless  they  go  in  couples. 

Even  the  magnificent  chamber  in  which  I  was  lodged  was 
subject  to  the  supernatural  influences  which  reigned  over  the 
Abbey,  and  was  said  to  be  haunted  by  "  Sir  John  Byron  the 
Little  with  the  great  Beard."  The  ancient  black-looking  portrait 
of  this  family  worthy,  which  hangs  over  the  door  of  the  great 
saloon,  was  said  to  descend  occasionally  at  midnight  from  the 
frame,  and  walk  the  rounds  of  the  state  apartments.  Nay,  his 
visitations  were  not  confined  to  the  night,  for  a  young  lady,  on  a 
visit  to  the  Abbey  some  years  since,  declared  that,  on  passing  in 
broad  day  by  the  door  of  the  identical  chamber  I  have  described, 
which  stood  partly  open,  she  saw  Sir  John  Byron  the  Little 
seated  by  the  fireplace,  reading  out  of  a  great  black-letter  book. 
From  this  circumstance  some  have  been  led  to  suppose  that  the 
story  of  Sir  John  Byron  may  be  in  some  measure  connected  with 
the  mysterious  sculptures  of  the  chimney-piece  already  men 
tioned  ;  but  this  has  no  countenance  from  the  most  authentic 
antiquarians  of  the  Abbey. 

14 


314  CRAYON    MISCELLANY. 


For  my  own  part,  the  moment  I  learned  the  wonderful  stories 
and  strange  suppositions  connected  with  my  apartment,  it  became 
an  imaginary  realm  to  me.  As  I  lay  in  bed  at  night  and  gazed 
at  the  mysterious  panel-work,  where  Grothic  knight,  and  Christian 
dame,  and  Paynim  lover  gazed  upon  me  in  effigy,  I  used  to  weave 
a  thousand  fancies  concerning  them.  The  great  figures  in  the 
tapestry,  also,  were  almost  animated  by  the  workings  of  my 
imagination,  and  the  Vandyke  portraits  of  the  cavalier  and  lady 
that  looked  down  with  pale  aspects  from  the  wall,  had  almost  a 
spectral  effect,  from  their  immovable  gaze  and  silent  companion 
ship — 

"  For  by  dim  lights  the  portraits  of  the  dead 
Have  something  ghastly,  desolate,  and  dread. 

Their  buried  looks  still  wave 

Along  the  canvas ;  their  eyes  glance  like  dreams 

On  ours,  as  spars  within  some  dusky  cave, 

But  death  is  mingled  in  their  shadowy  beams." 

In  this  way  I  used  to  conjure  up  fictions  of  the  brain,  and 
clothe  the  objects  around  me  with  ideal  interest  and  import, 
until,  as  the  Abbey  clock  tolled  midnight,  I  almost  looked  to  see 
Sir  John  Byron  the  Little  with  the  long  Beard  stalk  into  the 
room  with  his  book  under  his  arm,  and  take  his  seat  beside  the 
mysterious  chimney-piece. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.   \      .  315 


ANNESLEY  HALL. 

AT  about  three  miles'  distance  from  Newstead  Abbey,  and  con 
tiguous  to  its  lands,  is  situated  Annesley  Hall,  the  old  family 
mansion  of  the  Chaworths.  The  families,  like  the  estates,  of  the 
Byrons  and  Chaworths,  were  connected  in  former  times,  until 
the  fatal  duel  between  their  two  representatives.  The  feud, 
however,  which  prevailed  for  a  time,  promised  to  be  cancelled 
by  the  attachment  of  two  youthful  hearts.  While  Lord  Byron 
was  yet  a  boy,  he  beheld  Mary  Ann  Chaworth,  a  beautiful  girl, 
and  the  sole  heiress  of  Annesley.  With  that  susceptibility 
to  female  charms,  which  he  evinced  almost  from  childhood,  he 
became  almost  immediately  enamored  of  her.  According  to  one 
of  his  biographers,  it  would  appear  that  at  first  their  attachment 
was  mutual,  yet  clandestine.  The  father  of  Miss  Chaworth  was 
then  living,  and  may  have  retained  somewhat  of  the  family  hos 
tility,  for  we  are  told  that  the  interviews  of  Lord  Byron  and  the 
young  lady  were  private,  at  a  gate  which  opened  from  her  father's 
grounds  to  those  of  Newstead.  However,  they  were  so  young  at 
the  time  that  these  meetings  could  not  have  been  regarded  as  of 
any  importance :  they  were  little  more  than  children  in  years ; 
but,  as  Lord  Byron  says  of  himself,  his  feelings  were  beyond 
his  age. 
.  The  passion  thus  early  conceived  was  blown  into  a  flame, 


316  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


during  a  six  weeks'  vacation  which  he  passed  with  his  mother  at 
Nottingham.  The  father  of  Miss  Chaworth  was  dead,  and  she 
resided  with  her  mother  at  the  old  Hall  of  Annesley.  During 
Byron's  minority,  the  estate  of  Newstead  was  let  to  Lord  Grey 
de  Ruthen,  but  its  youthful  Lord  was  always  a  welcome  guest 
at  the  Abbey.  He  would  pass  days  at  a  time  there,  and  ma,ke 
frequent  visits  thence  to  Annesley  Hall.  His  visits  were  encour 
aged  by  Miss  Chaworth's  mother  ;  she  partook  none  of  the  family 
feud,  and  probably  looked  with  complacency  upon  an  attachment 
that  might  heal  old  differences  and  unite  two  neighboring 
estates. 

The  six  weeks'  vacation  passed  as  a  dream  amongst  the  beau 
tiful  flowers  of  Annesley.  Byron  was  scarce  fifteen  years  of  age, 
Mary  Chaworth  was  two  years  older  ;  but  his  heart,  as  I  have 
said,  was  beyond  his  age,  and  his  tenderness  for  her  was  deep 
and  passionate.  These  early  loves,  like  the  first  run  of  the  un- 
crushed  grape,  are  the  sweetest  and  strongest  gushings  of  the 
heart,  and  however  they  may  be  superseded  by  other  attachments 
in  after  years,  the  memory  will  continually  recur  to  them,  and 
fondly  dwell  upon  their  recollections. 

His  love  for  Miss  Chaworth,  to  use  Lord  Byron's  own  expres 
sion,  was  "  the  romance  of  the  most  romantic  period  of  his  life," 
and  I  think  we  can  trace  the  effect  of  it  throughout  the  whole 
course  of  his  writings,  coming  up  every  now  and  then,  like  some 
lurking  theme  which  runs  through  a  complicated  piece  of  music, 
and  links  it  all  in  a  pervading  chain  of  melody. 

How  tenderly  and  mournfully  does  he  recall,  in  after  years, 
the  feelings  awakened  in  his  youthful  and  inexperienced  bosom 
by  this  impassioned,  yet  innocent  attachment ;  feelings,  he  says, 
lost  or  hardened  in  the  intercourse  of  life : 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  317 


"  The  love  of  better  things  and  better  days  ; 

The  unbounded  hope,  and  heavenly  ignorance 
Of  what  is  called  the  world,  and  the  world's  ways; 

The  moments  when  we  gather  from  a  glance 
More  joy  than  from  all  future  pride  or  praise, 

Which  kindle  manhood,  but  can  ne'er  entrance 
The  heart  in  an  existence  of  its  own, 
Of  which  another's  bosom  is  the  zone." 

Whether  this  love  was  really  responded  to  by  the  object,  is 
uncertain.  Byron  sometimes  speaks  as  if  he  had  met  with  kind 
ness  in  return,  at  other  times  he  acknowledges  that  she  never 
gave  him  reason  to  believe  she  loved  him.  It  is  probable,  how 
ever,  that  at  first  she  experienced  some  flutterings  of  the  heart. 
She  was  of  a  susceptible  age  ;  had  as  yet  formed  no  other  attach 
ments  ;  her  lover,  though  boyish  in  years,  was  a  man  in  intellect, 
a  poet  in  imagination,  and  had  a  countenance  of  remarkable 
beauty. 

With  the  six  weeks'  vacation  ended  this  brief  romance.  By 
ron  returned  to  school  deeply  enamored,  but  if  he  had  really 
made  any  impression  on  Miss  Chaworth's  heart,  it  was  too  slight 
to  stand  the  test  of  absence.  She  was  at  that  age  when  a  female 
soon  changes  from  the  girl  to  the  woman,  and  leaves  her  boyish 
lovers  far  behind  her.  While  Byron  was  pursuing  his  school-boy 
studies,  she  was  mingling  with  society,  and  met  with  a  gentleman 
of  the  name  of  Musters,  remarkable,  it  is  said,  for  manly  beauty. 
A  story  is  told  of  her  having  first  seen  him  from  the  top  of  An- 
nesley  Hall,  as  he  dashed  through  the  park,  with  hound  and 
horn,  taking  the  lead  of  the  whole  field  in  a  fox  chase,  and  that 
she  was  struck  by  the  spirit  of  his  appearance,  and  his  admirable 
horsemanship.  Under  such  favorable  auspices,  he  wooed  and 


318  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


won  her,  and  when  Lord  Byron  next  met  her,  he  learned  to  his 
dismay  that  she  was  the  affianced  bride  of  another. 

With  that  pride  of  spirit  which  always  distinguished  him,  he 
controlled  his  feelings  and  maintained  a  serene  countenance.  He 
even  affected  to  speak  calmly  on  the  subject  of  her  approaching 
nuptials.  "  The  next  time  I  see  you,"  said  he,  "  I  suppose  you 
will  be  Mrs.  Chaworth,"  (for  she  was  to  retain  her  family  name.) 
Her  reply  was,  "  I  hope  so." 

I  have  given  these  brief  details  preparatory  to  a  sketch  of  a 
visit  which  I  made  to  the  scene  of  this  youthful  romance.  An- 
nesley  Hall  I  understood  was  shut  up,  neglected,  and  almost  in 
a  state  of  desolation ;  for  Mr.  Musters  rarely  visited  it,  residing 
with  his  family  in  the  neighborhood  of  Nottingham.  I  set  out 
for  the  Hall  on  horseback,  in  company  with  Colonel  Wildman, 
and  followed  by  the  great  Newfoundland  dog  Boatswain.  In  the 
course  of  our  ride  we  visited  a  spot  memorable  in  the  love  story 
I  have  cited.  It  was  the  scene  of  this  parting  interview  between 
Byron  and  Miss  Chaworth,  prior  to  her  marriage.  A  long  ridge 
of  upland  advances  into  the  valley  of  Newstead,  like  a  promon 
tory  into  a  lake,  and  was  formerly  crowned  by  a  beautiful  grove, 
a  landmark  to  the  neighboring  country.  The  grove  and  promon 
tory  are  graphically  described  by  Lord  Byron  in  his  "  Dream," 
and  an  exquisite  picture  given  of  himself,  and  the  lovely  object 
of  his  boyish  idolatry — 

"  I  saw  two  beings  in  the  hues  of  youth 
Standing  upon  a  hill,  a  gentle  hill, 
Green,  and  of  mild  declivity,  the  last 
As  'twere  the  cape  of  a  long  ridge  of  such, 
Save  that  there  was  no  sea  to  lave  its  base, 
But  a  most  living  landscape,  and  the  wave 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  319 


Of  woods  and  corn-fields,  and  the  abodes  of  men, 
Scatter'd  at  intervals,  and  wreathing  smoke 
Arising  from  such  rustic  roofs  j — the  hill 
Was  crown' d  with  a  peculiar  diadem 
Of  trees,  in  circular  array,  so  fixed, 
Not  by  the  sport  of  nature,  but  of  man  : 
These  two,  a  maiden  and  a  youth,  were  there 
Gazing — the  one  on  all  that  was  beneath 
Fair  as  herself— but  the  boy  gazed  on  her  ; 
And  both  were  fair,  and  one  was  beautiful : 
And  both  were  young — yet  not  alike  in  youth. 
As  the  sweet  moon  in  the  horizon's  verge, 
The  maid  was  on  the  verge  of  womanhood : 
The  boy  had  fewer  summers,  but  his  heart 
Had  far  outgrown  his  years,  and  to  his  eye 
There  was  but  one  beloved  face  on  earth, 
And  that  was  shining  on  him." 

I  stood  upon  the  spo.t  consecrated  by  this  memorable  inter 
view.  Below  me  extended  the  "  living  landscape,"  once  contem 
plated  by  the  loving  pair  ;  the  gentle  valley  of  Newstead,  diver 
sified  by  woods  and  corn-fields,  and  village  spires,  and  gleams  of 
water,  and  the  distant  towers  and  pinnacles  of  the  venerable 
Abbey.  The  diadem  of  trees,  however,  was  gone.  The  attention 
drawn  to  it  by  the  poet,  and  the  romantic  manner  in  which  he 
had  associated  it  with  his  early  passion  for  Mary  Chaworth,  had 
nettled  the  irritable  feelings  of  her  husband,  who  but  ill  brooked 
the  poetic  celebrity  conferred  on  his  wife  by  the  enamored  verses 
of  another.  The  celebrated  grove  stood  on  his  estate,  and  in  a 
fit  of  spleen  he  ordered  it  to  be  levelled  with  the  dust.  At  the 
time  of  my  visit  the  mere  roots  of  the  trees  were  visible ;  but  the 
hand  that  laid  them  low  is  execrated  by  every  poetical  pilgrim. 


320  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


Descending  the  hill,  we  soon  entered  a  part  of  what  once  was 
Annesley  Park,  and  rode  among  time-worn  and  tempest-riven 
oaks  and  elms,  with  ivy  clambering  about  their  trunks,  and  rooks' 
nests  among  their  branches.  The  park  had  been  cut  up  by  a 
post-road,  crossing  which,  we  came  to  the  -gate-house  of  Annesley 
Hall.  It  was  an  old  brick  building  that  might  have  served  as  an 
outpost  or  barbacan  to  the  Hall  during  the  civil  wars,  when  every 
gentleman's  house  was  liable  to  become  a  fortress.  Loopholes 
were  still  visible  in  its  walls,  but  the  peaceful  ivy  had  mantled 
the  sides,  overrun  the  roof,  and  almost  buried  the  ancient  clock 
in  front,  that  still  marked  the  waning  hours  of  its  decay. 

An  arched  way  led  through  the  centre  of  the  gate-house, 
secured  by  grated  doors  of  open  iron  work,  wrought  into  flowers 
and  flourishes.  These  being  thrown  open,  we  entered  a  paved 
court-yard,  decorated  with  shrubs  and  antique  flower-pots,  with  a 
ruined  stone  fountain  in  the  centre.  The  whole  approach  resem 
bled  that  of  an  old  French  chateau. 

On  one  side  of  the  court-yard  was  a  range  of  stables,  now 
tenantless,  but  which  bore  traces  of  the  fox-hunting  squire  ;  for 
there  were  stalls  boxed  up,  into  which  the  hunters  might  be 
turned  loose  when  they  came  home  from  the  chase. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  court,  and  immediately  opposite  the 
gate-house,  extended  the  Hall  itself;  a  rambling,  irregular  pile, 
patched  and  pieced  at  various  times,  and  in  various  tastes,  with 
gable  ends,  stone  balustrades,  and  enormous  chimneys,  that 
strutted  out  like  buttresses  from  the  walls.  The  whole  front  of 
the  edifice  was  overrun  with  evergreens. 

We  applied  for  admission  at  the  front  door,  which  was  under 
a  heavy  porch.  The  portal  was  strongly  barricadoed,  and  our 
knocking  was  echoed  by  waste  and  empty  halls.  Every  thing 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  321 


bore  an  appearance  of  abandonment.  After  a  time,  however,  our 
knocking  summoned  a  solitary  tenant  from  some  remote  corner 
of  the  pile.  It  was  a  decent-looking  little  dame,  who  emerged 
from  a  side  door  at  a  distance,  and  seemed  a  worthy  inmate  of 
the  antiquated  mansion.  She  had,  in  fact,  grown  old  with  it. 
Her  name,  she  said,  was  Nanny  Marsden  ;  if  she  lived  until  next 
August,  she  would  be  seventy-one :  a  great  part  of  her  life  had 
been  passed  in  the  Hall,  and  when  the  family  had  removed  to 
Nottingham,  she  had  been  left  in  charge  of  it.  The  front  of  the 
house  had  been  thus  warily  barricadoed  in  consequence  of  the 
late  riots  at  Nottingham ;  in  the  course  of  which,  the  dwelling  of 
her  master  had  been  sacked  by  the  mob.  To  guard  against  any 
attempt  of  the  kind  upon  the  Hall,  she  had  put  it  in  this  state  of 
defence ;  though  I  rather  think  she  and  a  superannuated  gar 
dener  comprised  the  whole  garrison.  "  You  must  be  attached 
to  the  old  building,"  said  I,  "  after  having  lived  so  long  in  it." 
"  Ah,  sir  !"  replied  she,  "  I  am  getting  in  years,  and  have  a  fur 
nished  cottage  of  my  own  in  Annesley  Wood,  and  begin  to  feel 
as  if  I  should  like  to  go  and  live  in  my  own  home." 

G-uided  by  the  worthy  little  custodian  of  the  fortress,  we 
entered  through  the  sally  port  by  which  she  had  issued  forth, 
and  soon  found  ourselves  in  a  spacious,  but  somewhat  gloomy 
hall,  where  the  light  was  partially  admitted  through  square 
stone-shafted  windows,  overhung  with  ivy.  Every  thing  around 
us  had  the  air  of  an  old-fashioned  country  squire's  establishment. 
In  the  centre  of  the  hall  was  a  billiard  table,  and  about  the  walls 
were  hung  portraits  of  race-horses,  hunters,  and  favorite  dogs, 
mingled  indiscriminately  with  family  pictures. 

Staircases  led  up  from  the  hall  to  various  apartments.  In 
one  of  the  rooms  we  were  shown  a  couple  of  buff  jerkins,  and  a 

14* 


322  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 

pair  of  ancient  jackboots,  of  the  time  of  the  cavaliers  ;  relics 
which  are  often  to  be  met  with  in  the  old  English  family  man 
sions.  These,  however,  had  peculiar  value,  for  the  good  little 
dame  assured  us  they  had  belonged  to  Robin  Hood.  As  we 
were  in  the  midst  of  the  region  over  which  that  famous  outlaw 
once  bore  ruffian  sway,  it  was  not  for  us  to  gainsay  his  claim  to 
any  of  these  venerable  relics,  though  we  might  have  demurred 
that  the  articles  of  dress  here  shown  were  of  a  date  much  later 
than  his  time.  Every  antiquity,  however,  about  Sherwood  For 
est  is  apt  to  be  linked  with  the  memory  of  Robin  Hood  and  his 
gang. 

As  we  were  strolling  about  the  mansion,  our  four-footed 
attendant,  Boatswain,  followed  leisurely,  as  if  taking  a  survey  of 
the  premises.  I  turned  to  rebuke  him  for  his  intrusion,  but  the 
moment  the  old  housekeeper  understood  he  had  belonged  to  Lord 
Byron,  her  heart  seemed  to  yearn  towards  him. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  exclaimed  she,  "  let  him  alone,  let  him  go  where 
he  pleases.  He's  welcome.  Ah,  dear  me !  If  he  lived  here  I 
should  take  great  care  of  him — he  should  want  for  nothing. — 
Well !"  continued  she.  fondling  him.  "  who  would  have  thought 
that  I  should  see  a  dog  of  Lord  Byron  in  Annesley  Hall !" 

"  I  suppose,  then,"  said  I,  "  you  recollect  something  of  Lord 
Byron,  when  he  used  to  visit  here  ?"  "  Ah,  bless  him !"  cried 
she,  "  that  I  do  !  He  used  to  ride  over  here  and  stay  three  days 
at  a  time,  and  sleep  in  the  blue  room.  Ah  !  poor  fellow !  He 
was  very  much  taken  with  my  young  mistress  ;  he  used  to  walk 
about  the  garden  and  the  terraces  with  her,  and  seemed  to  love 
the  very  ground  she  trod  on.  He  used  to  call  her  his  bright 
morning  star  of  Annesley" 

I  felt  the  beautiful  poetic  phrase  thrill  through  me. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 


"  You  appear  to  like  the  memory  of  Lord  Byron,"  said  I. 

"  Ah,  sir  !  why  should  not  I !  He  was  always  main  good  to 
me  when  he  came  here.  Well !  well !  they  say  it  is  a  pity  he 
and  my  young  lady  did  not  make  a  match.  Her  mother  would 
have  liked  it.  He  was  always  a  welcome  guest,  and  some  think 
it  would  have  been  well  for  him  to  have  had  her  ;  but  it  was  not 
to  be  !  He  went  away  to  school,  and  then  Mr.  Musters  saw  her, 
and  so  things  took  their  course." 

The  simple  soul  now  showed  us  into  the  favorite  sitting-room 
of  Miss  Chaworth,  with  a  small  flower-garden  under  the  windows, 
in  which  she  had  delighted.  In  this  room  Byron  used  to  sit  and 
listen  to  her  as  she  played  and  sang,  gazing  upon  her  with  the 
passionate,  and  almost  painful  devotion  of  a  love-sick  stripling. 
He  himself  gives  us  a  glowing  picture  of  his  mute  idolatry : 

"  He  had  no  breath,  no  being,  but  in  hers  ; 
She  was  his  voice  ;  he  did  not  speak  to  her, 
But  trembled  on  her  words  ;  she  was  his  sight, 
For  his  eye  followed  hers,  and  saw  with  hers, 
Which  colored  all  his  objects  ;— he  had  ceased 
To  live  within  himself ;  she  was  his  life, 
The  ocean  to  the  river  of  his  thoughts, 
Which  terminated  all :  upon  a  tone, 
A  touch  of  hers,  his  blood  would  ebb  and  flow, 
And  his  cheek  change  tempestuously — his  heart 
Unknowing  of  its  cause  of  agony." 

There  was  a  little  Welsh  air,  called  Mary  Ann,  which,  from 
bearing  her  own  name,  he  associated  with  herself,  and  often  per 
suaded  her  to  sing  it  over  and  over  for  him. 

The  chamber,  like  all  the  other  parts  of  the  house,  had  a  look 
of  sadness  and  neglect;  the  flower-pots  beneath  the  window, 


CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


which  once  bloomed  beneath  the  hand  of  Mary  Chaworth,  were 
overrun  with  weeds  ;  and  the  piano,  which  had  once  vibrated  to 
her  touch,  and  thrilled  the  heart  of  her  stripling  lover,  was  now 
unstrung  and  out  of  tune. 

We  continued  our  stroll  about  the  waste  apartments,  of  all 
shapes  and  sizes,  and  without  much  elegance  of  decoration. 
Some  of  them  were  hung  with  family  portraits,  among  which  was 
pointed  out  that  of  the  Mr.  Chaworth  who  was  killed  by  the 
"wicked  Lord  Byron." 

These  dismal  looking  portraits  had  a  powerful  effect  upon 
the  imagination  of  the  stripling  poet,  on  his  first  visit  to  the 
Hall.  As  they  gazed  down  from  the  wall,  he  thought  they 
scowled  upon  him,  as  if  they  had  taken  a  grudge  against  him  on 
account  of  the  duel  of  his  ancestor.  He  even  gave  this  as  a 
reason,  though  probably  in  jest,  for  not  sleeping  at  the  Hall, 
declaring  that  he  feared  they  would  come  down  from  their  frames 
at  night  to  haunt  him. 

A  feeling  of  the  kind  he  has  embodied  in  one  of  his  stanzas 
of  Don  Juan : 

"  The  forms  of  the  grim  knights  and  pictured  saints 

Look  living  in  the  moon  ;  and  as  you  turn 
Backward  and  forward  to  the  echoes  faint 

Of  your  own  footsteps — voices  from  the  urn 
Appear  to  wake,  and  shadows  wild  and  quaint 

Start  from  the  frames  which  fence  their  aspects  stern, 
As  if  to  ask  you  l*>w  you  dare  to  keep 
A  vigil  there,  where  all  but  death  should  sleep." 

Nor  was  the  youthful  poet  singular  in  these  fancies  ;  the 
Hall,  like  most  old  English  mansions  that  have  ancient  family 
portraits  hanging  about  their  dusky  galleries  and  waste  apart- ' 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  325 


ments,  had  its  ghost  story  connected  with  these  pale  memorials 
of  the  dead.  Our  simple-hearted  conductor  stopped  before  the 
portrait  of  a  lady,  who  had  been  a  beauty  in  her  time,  and  in 
habited  the  Hall  in  the  heyday  of  her  charms.  Something 
mysterious  or  melancholy  was  connected  with  her  story  ;  she 
died  young,  but  continued  for  a  long  time  to  haunt  the  ancient 
mansion,  to  the  great  dismay  of  the  servants,  and  the  occasional 
disquiet  of  the  visitors,  and  it  was  with  much  difficulty  her 
troubled  spirit  was  conjured  down  and  put  to  rest. 

From  the  rear  of  the  Hall  we  walked  out  into  the  garden, 
about  which  Byron  used  to  stroll  and  loiter  in  company  with 
Miss  Chaworth.  It  was  laid  out  in  the  old  French  style.  There 
was  a  long  terraced  walk,  with  heavy  stone  balustrades  and  sculp 
tured  urns,  overrun  with  ivy  and  evergreens.  A  neglected 
shrubbery  bordered  one  side  of  the  terrace,  with  a  lofty  grove 
inhabited  by  a  venerable  community  of  rooks.  Great  flights  of 
steps  led  down  from  the  terrace  to  a  flower-garden,  laid  out  in 
formal  plots.  The  rear  of  the  Hall,  which  overlooked  the  garden, 
had  the  weather  stains  of  centuries,  and  its  stone-shafted  case 
ments,  and  an  ancient  sun-dial  against  its  walls,  carried  back  the 
mind  to  days  of  yore. 

The  retired  and  quiet  garden,  once  a  little  sequestered  world 
of  love  and  romance,  was  now  all  matted  and  wild,  yet  was  beau 
tiful  even  in  its  decay.  Its  air  of  neglect  and  desolation  was  in 
unison  with  the  fortune  of  the  two  beings  who  had  once  walked 
here  in  the  freshness  of  youth,  and  life,  and  beauty.  The  garden, 
like  their  young  hearts,  had  gone  to  waste  and  ruin. 

Returning  to  the  Hall  we  now  visited  a  chamber  built  over 
the  porch,  or  grand  entrance  5  it  was  in  a  ruinous  condition  ;  the 
ceiling  having  fallen  in,  and  the  floor  given  away.  This,  however, 


326  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


is  a  chamber  rendered  interesting  by  poetical  associations.  It  is 
supposed  to  be  the  oratory  alluded  to  by  Lord  Byron  in  his 
Dream,  wherein  he  pictures  his  departure  from  Annesley,  after 
learning  that  Mary  Chaworth  was  engaged  to  be  married — 

"  There  was  an  ancient  mansion,  and  before 
Its  walls  there  was  a  steed  caparison'd  ; 
Within  an  antique  Oratory  stood 
The  Boy  of  whom  I  spake  ; — he  was  alone, 
And  pale  and  pacing  to  and  fro :  anon 
He  sate  him  down,  and  seized  a  pen,  and  traced 
Words  which  I  could  not  guess  of ;  then  he  lean'd 
His  bow'd  head  on  his  hands,  and  shook  as  'twere 
With  a  convulsion — then  arose  again, 
And  with  his  teeth  and  quivering  hands  did  tear 
*What  he  had  written,  but  he  shed  no  tears. 
And  he  did  calm  himself,  and  fix  his  brow 
Into  a  kind  of  quiet;  as  he  paused, 
The  lady  of  his  love  re-entered  there  ; 
She  was  serene  and  smiling  then,  and  yet 
She  knew  she  was  by  him  beloved,-— she  knew, 
For  quickly  comes  such  knowledge,  that  his  heart 
Was  darken'd  with  her  shadow,  and  she  saw 
That  he  was  wretched,  but  she  saw  not  all. 
He  rose,  and  with  a  cold  and  gentle  grasp 
He  took  her  hand  ;  a  moment  o'er  his  face 
A  tablet  of  unutterable  thoughts 
Was  traced,  and  then  it  faded  as  it  came  ; 
He  dropp'd  the  hand  he  held,  and  with  slow  steps 
Return'd,  but  not  as  bidding  her  adieu, 
For  they  did  part  with  mutual  smiles : — he  pass'd 
From  out  the  massy  gate  of  that  old  Hall, 
And  mounting  on  his  steed  he  went  his  way, 
And  ne'er  repass'd  that  hoary  threshold  more." 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  327 


In  one  of  his  journals,  Lord  Byron  describes  his  feelings 
after  thus  leaving  the  oratory.  Arriving  on  the  summit  of  a 
hill,  which  commanded  the  last  view  of  Annesley,  he  checked  his 
horse,  and  gazed  back  with  mingled  pain  and  fondness  upon  the 
groves  which  embowered  the  Hall,  and  thought  upon  the  lovely 
being  that  dwelt  there,  until  his  feelings  were  quite  dissolved  in 
tenderness.  The  conviction  at  length  recurred  that  she  never 
could  be  his,  when,  rousing  himself  from  his  reverie,  he  struck  his 
spurs  into  his  steed  and  dashed  forward,  as  if  by  rapid  motion  to 
leave  reflection  behind  him. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  what  he  asserts  in  the  verses  last  quoted, 
he  did  pass  the  "  hoary  threshold  "  of  Annesley  again.  It  was, 
however,  after  the  lapse  of  several  years,  during  which  he  had 
grown  up  to  manhood,  had  passed  through  the  ordeal  of  pleasures 
and  tumultuous  passions,  and  had  felt  the  influence  of  other 
charms.  Miss  Chaworth,  too,  had  become  a  wife  and  a  mother, 
and  he  dined  at  Annesley  Hall  at  the  invitation  of  her  husband. 
He  thus  met  the  object  of  his  early  idolatry  in  the  very  scene  of 
his  tender  devotions,  which,  as  he  says,  her  smiles  had  once  made 
a  heaven  to  him.  The  scene  was  but  little  changed.  He  was  in 
the  very  chamber  where  he  had  so  often  listened  entranced  to  the 
witchery  of  her  voice ;  there  were  the  same  instruments  and 
music ;  there  lay  her  flower-garden  beneath  the  window,  and  the 
walks  through  which  he  had  wandered  with  her  in  the  intoxica 
tion  of  youthful  love.  Can  we  wonder  that  amidst  the  tender 
recollections  which  every  object  around  him  was  calculated  to 
awaken,  the  fond  passion  of  his  boyhood  should  rush  back  in  full 
current  to  his  heart  ?  He  was  himself  surprised  at.  this  sudden 
revulsion  of  his  feelings,  but  he  had  acquired  self-possession  and 
could  command  them.  His  firmness,  however,  was  doomed  to 


328  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


undergo  a  further  trial.  While  seated  by  the  object  of  his  secret 
devotions,  with  all  these  recollections  throbbing  in  his  bosom,  her 
infant  daughter  was  brought  into  the  room.  At  sight  of  the 
child  he  started ;  it  dispelled  the  last  lingerings  of  his  dream, 
and  he  afterwards  confessed,  that  to  repress  his  emotion  at  the 
moment,  was  the  severest  part  of  his  task. 

The  conflict  of  feelings  that  raged  within  his  bosom  through 
out  this  fond  and  tender,  yet  painful  and  embarrassing  visit,  are 
touchingly  depicted  in  lines  which  he  wrote  immediately  after 
wards,  and  which,  though  not  addressed  to  her  by  name,  are 
evidently  intended  for  the  eye  and  the  heart  of  the  fair  lady  of 
Annesley : 

"  Well !  them  art  happy,  and  I  feel 

That  I  should  thus  be  happy  too ; 
For  still  my  heart  regards  thy  weal 
Warmly,  as  it  was  wont  to  do. 

Thy  husband's  blest — and  'twill  impart 

Some  pangs  to  view  his  happier  lot : 
But  let  them  pass — Oh !  how  my  heart 

Would  hate  him,  if  he  loved  thee  not ! 

When  late  I  saw  thy  favorite  child 

I  thought  my  jealous  heart  would  break  ; 

But  when  the  unconscious  infant  smiled, 
I  kiss'd  it  for  its  mother's  sake. 

I  kiss'd  it,  and  repress'd  my  sighs 

Its  father  in  its  face  to  see  ; 
But  then  it  had  its  mother's  eyes, 

And  they  were  all  to  love  and  me. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  329 


Mary,  adieu  !  I  must  away  : 

While  thou  art  blest  I'll  not  repine  ; 
But  near  thee  I  can  never  stay  : 

My  heart  would  soon  again  be  thine. 

I  deem'd  that  time,  I  deem'd  that  pride 
Had  quench'd  at  length  my  boyish  flame  ; 

Nor  knew,  till  seated  by  thy  side, 
My  heart  in  all,  save  love,  the  same. 

Yet  I  was  calm  :  I  knew  the  time 

My  breast  would  thrill  before  thy  look  ; 
But  now  to  tremble  were  a  crime — 

We  met,  and  not  a  nerve  was  shook. 

I  saw  thee  gaze  upon  my  face, 

Yet  meet  with  no  confusion  there  : 
One  only  feeling  could'st  thou  trace  ; 

The  sullen  calmness  of  despair. 

Away  !  away  !  my  early  dream 

Remembrance  never  must  awake  : 
Oh  I  where  is  Lethe's  fabled  stream  ? 

My  foolish  heart,  be  still,  or  break." 

The  revival  of  this  early  passion,  and  the  melancholy  associa 
tions  which  it  spread  over  those  scenes  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Newstead,  which  would  necessarily  be  the  places  of  his  frequent 
resort  while  in  England,  are  alluded  to  by  him  as  a  principal 
cause  of  his  first  departure  for  the  Continent : 

"  When  man  expell'd  from  Eden's  bowers 

A  moment  lingered  near  the  gate, 

Each  scene  recalled  the  vanish' d  hours, 

And  bade  him  curse  his  future  fate. 


330  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


But  wandering  on  through  distant  climes, 

He  learnt  to  bear  his  load  of  grief; 
Just  gave  a  sigh  to  other  times, 

And  found  in  busier  scenes  relief. 

Thus  Mary  must  it  be  with  me, 

And  I  must  view  thy  charms  no  more  ; 
For,  while  I  linger  near  to  thee, 

I  sigh  for  all  I  knew  before." 

It  was  in  the  subsequent  June  that  he  set  off  on  his  pilgrim 
age  by  sea  and  land,  which  was  to  become  the  theme  of  his 
immortal  poem.  That  the  image  of  Mary  Chaworth,  as  he  saw 
and  loved  her  in  the  days  of  his  boyhood,  followed  him  to  the 
very  shore,  is  shown  in  the  glowing  stanzas  addressed  to  her  on 
the  eve  of  embarkation — 

"  'Tis  done — and  shivering  in  the  gale 
The  bark  unfurls  her  snowy  sail ; 
And  whistling  o'er  the  bending  mast, 
Loud  sings  on  high  the  fresh'ning  blast ; 
And  I  must  from  this  land  be  gone, 
Because  1  cannot  love  but  one. 

And  I  will  cross  the  whitening  foam, 
And  I  will  seek  a  foreign  home  ; 
Till  I  forget  a  false  fair  face, 
I  ne'er  shall  find  a  resting  place  ;  . 
My  own  dark  thoughts  I  cannot  shun, 
But  ever  love,  and  love  but  one. 

To  think  of  every  early  scene, 

Of  what  we  are,  and  what  we've  been, 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  331 


Would  whelm  some  softer  hearts  with  woe— 
But  mine,  alas  !  has  stood  the  blow  ; 
Yet  still  beats  on  as  it  begun, 
And  never  truly  loves  but  one. 

And  who  that  dear  loved  one  may  be 
Is  not  for  vulgar  eyes  to  see, 
And  why  that  early  love  was  cross'd, 
Thou  know'st  the  best,  I  feel  the  most ; 
But  few  that  dwell  beneath  the  sun 
Have  loved  so  long,  and  loved  but  one. 

I've  tried  another's  fetters  too, 
With  charms,  perchance,  as  fair  to  view  ; 
And  I  would  fain  have  loved  as  well, 
But  some  unconquerable  spell 
Forbade  my  bleeding  breast  to  own 
A  kindred  care  for  aught  but  one. 

'Twould  soothe  to  take  one  lingering  view, 
And  bless  thee  in  my  last  adieu  ; 
Yet  wish  I  not  those  eyes  to  weep 
For  him  who  wanders  o'er  the  deep  ; 
His  home,  his  hope,  his  youth  are  gone, 
Yet  still  he  loves,  and  loves  but  one." 

The  painful  interview  at  Annesley  Hall  which  revived  with 
such  intenseness  his  early  passion,  remained  stamped  upon  his 
memory  with  singular  force,  and  seems  to  have  survived  all  his 
"  wandering  through  distant  climes,"  to  which  he  trusted  as  an 
oblivious  antidote.  Upwards  of  two  years  after  that  event,  when, 
having  made  his  famous  pilgrimage,  he  was  once -more  an  inmate 


332  CRAYON    MISCELLANY. 


of  Newstead  Abbey,  his  vicinity  to  Anneslcy  Hall  brought  the 
whole  scene  vividly  before  him,  and  he  thus  recalls  it  in  a  poetic 
epistle  to  a  friend — 

"  I've  seen  my  bride  another's  bride, — 
Have  seen  her  seated  by  his  side, — 
Have  seen  the  infant  which  she  bore, 
Wear  the  sweet  smile  the  mother  wore, 
When  she  and  I  in  youth  have  smiled 
As  fond  and  faultless  as  her  child : — 
Have  seen  her  eyes,  in  cold  disdain, 
Ask  if  I  felt  no  secret  pain. 

And  I  have  acted  well  my  part, 
And  made  my  cheek  belie  my  heart, 
Return'd  the  freezing  glance  she  gave, 
Yet  felt  the  while  that  woman's  slave  ; — 
Have  kiss'd,  as  if  without  design, 
The  babe  which  ought  to  have  been  mine, 
And  show'd,  alas  !  in  each  caress, 
Time  had  not  made  me  love  the  less." 


"  It  was  about  the  time,"  says  Moore  in  his  life  of  Lord 
Byron,  "  when  he  was  thus  bitterly  feeling  and  expressing  the 
blight  which  his  heart  had  suffered  from  a  real  object  of  affection, 
that  his  poems  on  an  imaginary  one,  '  Thyrza,'  were  written." 
He  was  at  the  same  time  grieving  over  the  loss  of  several  of  his 
earliest  and  dearest  friends,  the  companions  of  his  joyous  school 
boy  hours.  To  recur  to  the  beautiful  language  of  Moore,  who 
writes  with  the  kindred  and  kindling  sympathies  of  a  true  poet : 
"All  these  recollections  of  the  young  and  the  dead  mingled 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  333 


themselves  in  his  mind  with  the  image  of  her,  who,  though  living, 
was,  for  him,  as  much  lost  as  they,  and  diffused  that  general 
feeling  of  sadness  and  fondness  through  his  soul,  which  found  a 
vent  in  these  poems.  *  *  *  It  was  the  blending  of  the  two 
affections  in  his  memory  and  imagination,  that  gave  birth  to  an 
ideal  object  combining  the  best  features  of  both,  and  drew  from 
him  those  saddest  and  tenderest  of  love  poems,  in  which  we  find 
all  the  depth  and  intensity  of  real  feeling,  touched  over  with  such 
a  light  as  no  reality  ever  wore." 

An  early,  innocent,  and  unfortunate  passion,  however  fruitful 
of  pain  it  may  be  to  the  man,  is  a  lasting  advantage  to  the  poet. 
It  is  a  well  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancies ;  of  refined  and  gentle 
sentiments ;  of  elevated  and  ennobling  thoughts ;  shut  up  in 
the  deep  recesses  of  the  heart,  keeping  it  green  amidst  the  with 
ering  blights  of  the  world,  and,  by  its  casual  gushings  and  over 
flowings,  recalling  at  times  all  the  freshness,  and  innocence,  and 
enthusiasm  of  youthful  days.  Lord  Byron  was  conscious  of  this 
effect,  and  purposely  cherished  and  brooded  over  the  remem 
brance  of  his  early  passion,  and  of  all  the  scenes  of  Annesley 
Hall  connected  with  it.  It  was  this  remembrance  that  attuned 
his  mind  to  some  of  its  most  elevated  and  virtuous  strains,  and 
shed  an  inexpressible  grace  and  pathos  over  his  best  productions. 

Being  thus  put  upon  the  traces  of  this  little  love-story,  I 
cannot  refrain  from  threading  them  out,  as  they  appear  from 
time  to  time  in  various  passages  of  Lord  Byron's  works.  During 
his  subsequent  rambles  in  the  East,  when  time  and  distance  had 
softened  away  his  "early  romance"  almost  into  the  remembrance 
of  a  pleasing  and  tender  dream,  he  received  accounts  of  the 
object  of  it,  which  represented  her,  still  in  her  paternal  Hall, 
among  her  native  bowers  of  Annesley,  surrounded  by  a  blooming 


334  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


and  beautiful  family,  yet  a  prey  to  secret  and  withering  melan 
choly — 

"  In  her  home, 

A  thousand  leagues  from  his, — her  native  home, 
She  dwelt,  begirt  with  growing  infancy, 
Daughters  and  sons  of  beauty,  but — behold  ! 
Upon  her  face  there  was  the  tint  of  grief, 
The  settled  shadow  of  an  inward  strife, 
And  an  unquiet*drooping  of  the  eye, 
As  if  its  lids  were  charged  with  unshed  tears." 

For  an  instant  the  buried  tenderness  of  early  youth  and  the 
fluttering  hopes  which  accompanied  it,  seemed  to  have  revived  in 
his  bosom,  and  the  idea  to  have  flashed  upon  his  mind  that  his 
image  might  be  connected  with  her  secret  woes — but  he  rejected 
the  thought  almost  as  soon  as  formed. 

"  What  could  her  grief  be  ?— she  had  all  she  loved, 
And  he  who  had  so  loved  her  was  not  there 
To  trouble  with  bad  hopes,  or  evil  wish, 
Or  ill  repress'd  affection,  her  pure  thoughts. 
What  could  her  grief  be  ? — she  had  loved  him  not, 
Nor  given  him  cause  to  deem  himself  beloved, 
Nor  could  he  be  a  part  of  that  which  prey'd 
Upon  her  mind — a  spectre  of  the  past." 

The  cause  of  her  grief  was  a  matter  of  rural  comment  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Newstead  and  Annesley.  It  was  disconnected 
from  all  idea  of  Lord  Byron,  but  attributed  to  the  harsh  and 
capricious  conduct  of  one  to  whose  kindness  and  affection  she 
had  a  sacred  claim.  The  domestic  sorrows  which  had  long  preyed 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  335 


in  secret  on  her  heart,  at  length  affected  her  intellect,  and  the 
"bright  morning  star  of  Annesley"  was  eclipsed  for  ever. 

"  The  lady  of  his  love, — oh !  she  was  changed 
As  by  the  sickness  of  the  soul ;  her  mind 
Had  wandered  from  its  dwelling,  and  her  eyes, 
They  had  not  their  own  lustre,  but  the  look 
Which  is  not  of  the  earth  ;  she  was  become 
The  queen  of  a  fantastic  realm  :  but  her  thoughts 
Were  combinations  of  disjointed  things  ; 
And  forms  impalpable  and  unperceived 
Of  others'  sight,  familiar  were  to  hers. 
And  this  the  world  calls  frenzy." 

Notwithstanding  lapse  of  time,  change  of  place,  and  a  suc 
cession  of  splendid  and  spirit-stirring  scenes  in  various  countries, 
the  quiet  and  gentle  scene  of  his  boyish  love  seems  to  have  held 
a  magic  sway  over  the  recollections  of  Lord  Byron,  and  the  image 
of  Mary  Chaworth  to  have  unexpectedly  obtruded  itself  upon  his 
mind  like  some  supernatural  visitation.  Such  was  the  fact  on 
the  occasion  of  his  marriage  with  Miss  Milbanke  ;  Annesley  Hall 
and  all  its  fond  associations  floated  like  a  vision  before  his 
thoughts,  even  when  at  the  altar,  and  on  the  point  of  pronouncing 
the  nuptial  vows.  The  circumstance  is  related  by  him  with  a 
force  and  feeling  that  persuade  us  of  its  truth. 

"  A  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my  dream. 
The  wanderer  was  returned. — I  saw  him  stand 
Before  an  altar — with  a  gentle  bride  ;  . 

Her  face  was  fair,  but  was  not  that  which  made 
The  star-light  of  his  boyhood  ; — as  he  stood 


336  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


Even  at  the  altar,  o'er  his  brow  there  came 

The  self-same  aspect,  and  the  quivering  shock 

That  in  the  antique  oratory  shook 

His  bosom  in  its  solitude  ;  and  then — 

As  in  that  hour — a  moment  o'er  his  face 

The  tablet  of  unutterable  thoughts 

Was  traced, — and  then  it  faded  as  it  came, 

And  he  stood  calm  and  quiet,  and  he  spoke 

The  fitting  vows,  but  heard  not  his  own  words, 

And  all  things  reel'd  around  him  :  he  could  see 

Not  that  which  was,  nor  that  which  should  have  been — 

But  the  old  mansion,  and  the  accustomed  hall, 

And  the  remcmber'd  chambers,  and  the  place, 

The  day,  the  hour,  the  sunshine,  and  the  shade, 

All  things  pertaining  to  that  place  and  hour, 

And  her  who  was  his  destiny,  came  back, 

And  thrust  themselves  between  him  and  the  light : 

What  business  had  they  there  at  such  a  time  1" 

The  history  of  Lord  Byron's  union  is  too  well  known  to  need 
narration.  The  errors,  and  humiliations,  and  heart-burnings 
that  followed  upon  it,  gave  additional  effect  to  the  remembrance 
of  his  early  passion,  and  tormented  him  with  the  idea,  that  had 
he  been  successful  in  his  suit  to  the  lovely  heiress  of  Annesley, 
they  might  both  have  shared  a  happier  destiny.  In  one  of  his 
manuscripts,  written  long  after  his  marriage,  having  accidentally 
mentioned  Miss  Chaworth  as  "my  M.  A.  C."  '-Alas  !"  exclaims 
he,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  feeling,  "  why  do  I  say  my  ?  Our 
union  would  have  healed  feuds  in  which  blood  had  been  shed  by 
our  fathers  ;  it  would  have  joined  lands  broad  and  rich  ;  it  would 
have  joined  at  least  one  heart,  and  two  persons  not  ill-matched  in 
years — and — and — and — what  has  been  the  result  ?" 


NEWSTEAD    ABBEY.  337 


But  enough  of  Annesley  Hall  and  the  poetical  themes  con 
nected  with  it.  I  felt  as  if  I  could  linger  for  hours  about  its 
ruined  oratory,  and  silent  hall,  and  neglected  garden,  and  spin 
reveries  and  dream  dreams,  until  all  became  an  ideal  world  around 
me.  The  day,  however,  was  fast  declining,  and  the  shadows  of 
evening  throwing  deeper  shades  of  melancholy  about  the  place. 
Taking  our  leave  of  the  worthy  old  housekeeper,  therefore,  with 
a  small  compensation  and  many  thanks  for  her  civilities,  we 
mounted  our  horses  and  pursued  our  way  back  to  Newstead 
Abbey. 


15 


338  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


THE  LAKE. 

"  BEFORE  the  mansion  lay  a  lucid  lake, 

Broad  as  transparent,  deep,  and  freshly  fed 
By  a  river,  which  its  softened  way  did  take 

In  currents  through  the  calmer  water  spread 
Around  :  the  wild  fowl  nestled  in  the  brake  . 

And  sedges,  brooding  in  their  liquid  bed : 
The  woods  sloped  downward  to  its  brink,  and  stood 
With  their  green  faces  fixed  upon  the  flood." 

SUCH  is  Lord  Byron's  description  of  one  of  a  series  of  beautiful 
sheets  of  water,  formed  in  old  times  by  the  monks  by  damming 
up  the  course  of  a  small  river.  Here  he  used  daily  to  enjoy  his 
favorite  recreations  of  swimming  and  sailing.  The  "  wicked  old 
Lord,"  in  his  scheme  of  rural  devastation,  had  cut  down  all  the 
woods  that  once  fringed  the  lake  ;  Lord  Byron,  on  coming  of  age, 
endeavored  to  restore  them,  and  a  beautiful  young  wood,  planted 
by  him,  now  sweeps  up  from  the  water's  edge,  and  clothes  the  hill 
hide  opposite  to  the  Abbey.  To  this  woody  nook  Colonel  Wild- 
man  has  given  the  appropriate  title  of  '•  the  Poet's  Corner." 

The  lake  has  inherited  its  share  of  the  traditions  and  fables 
connected  with  every  thing  in  and  about  the  Abbey.  It  was  a 
petty  Mediterranean  sea  on  which  the  "  wicked  old  Lord  "  used 
to  gratify  his  nautical  tastes  and  humors.  He  had  his  mimic 
castles  and  fortresses  along  its  shores,  and  his  mimic  fleets  upon 
its  waters,  and  used  to  get  up  mimic  sea-fights.  The  remains  of 
his  petty  fortifications  still  awaken  the  curious  inquiries  of 
visitors.  In  one  of  his  vagaries,  he  caused  a  large  vessel  to  be 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  339 


brought  on  wheels  from  the  sea-coast  and  launched  in  the  lake. 
The  country  people  were  surprised  to  see  a  ship  thus  sailing  over 
dry  land.  They  called  to  mind  a  saying  of  Mother  Shipton,  the 
famous  prophet  of  the  vulgar,  that  whenever  a  ship  freighted 
with  ling  should  cross  Sherwood  Forest,  Newstead  would  pass  out 
of  the  Byron  family.  The  country  people,  who  detested  the  old 
Lord,  were  anxious  to  verify  the  prophecy.  Ling,  in  the  dialect 
of  Nottingham,  is  the  name  for  heather ;  with  this  plant  they 
heaped  the  fated  bark  as  it  passed,  so  that  it  arrived  full  freighted 
at  Newstead. 

The  most  important  stories  about  the  lake,  however,  relate  to 
the  treasures  that  are  supposed  to  lie  buried  in  its  bosom. 
These  may  have  taken  their  origin  in  a  fact  which  actually  occur 
red.  There  was  one  time  fished  up  from  the  deep  part  of  the 
lake  a  great  eagle  of  molten  brass,  with  expanded  wings,  stand 
ing  on  a  pedestal  or  perch  of  the  same  metal.  It  had  doubtless 
served  as  a  stand  or  reading-desk,  in  the  Abbey  chapel,  to  hold  a 
folio  Bible  or  missal. 

The  sacred  relic  was  sent  to  a  braiser  to  be  cleaned.  As  he 
was  at  work  upon  it,  he  discovered  that  the  pedestal  was  hollow 
and  composed  of  several  pieces.  Unscrewing  these,  he  drew 
forth  a  number  of  parchment  deeds  and  grants  appertaining  to 
the  Abbey,  and  bearing  the  seals  of  Edward  III.  and  Henry 
VIIL,  which  had  thus  been  concealed,  and  ultimately  sunk  in  the 
lake  by  the  friars,  to  substantiate  their  right  and  title  to  these 
domains  at  some  future  day. 

One  of  the  parchment  scrolls  thus  discovered,  throws  rather 
an  awkward  light  upon  the  kind  of  life  led  by  the  friars  of  New- 
stead.  It  is  an  indulgence  granted  to  them  for  a  certain  number 
of  months,  in  which  plenary  pardon  is  assured  in  advance  for  all 


340  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


kinds  of  crimes,  among  which,  several  of  the  most  gross  and  sen 
sual  are  specifically  mentioned,  and  the  weaknesses  of  the  flesh 
to  which  they  were  prone. 

After  inspecting  these  testimonials  of  monkish  life,  in  the 
regions  of  Sherwood  Forest,  we  cease  to  wonder  at  the  virtuous 
indignation  of  Robin  Hood  and  his  outlaw  crew,  at  the  sleek 
sensualists  of  the  cloister : 

"  I  never  hurt  the  husbandman, 
That  use  to  till  the  ground, 
Nor  spill  their  blood  that  range  the  wood 
To  follow  hawk  and  hound. 

My  chiefest  spite  to  clergy  is, 

Who  in  these  days  bear  sway  ; 
With  friars  and  monks  with  their  fine  spunks, 

I  make  my  chiefest  prey." 

OLD  BALLAD  OF  ROBIN  HOOD. 

The  brazen  eagle  has  been  transferred  to  the  parochial  and 
collegiate  church  of  Southall,  about  twenty  miles  from  Newstead, 
where  it  may  still  be  seen  in  the  centre  of  the  chancel,  support 
ing,  as  of  yore,  a  ponderous  Bible.  As  to  the  documents  it  con 
tained,  they  are  carefully  treasured  up  by  Colonel  Wildman 
among  his  other  deeds  and  papers,  in  an  iron  chest  secured  by  a 
patent  lock  of  nine  bolts,  almost  equal  to  a  magic  spell. 

The  fishing  up  of  this  brazen  relic,  as  I  have  already  hinted, 
has  given  rise  to  the  tales  of  treasure  lying  at  the  bottom  of  the 
lake,  thrown  in  there  by  the  monks  when  they  abandoned  the 
Abbey.  The  favorite  story  is,  that  there  is  a  great  iron  chest 
there  filled  with  gold  and  jewels,  and  chalices  and  crucifixes. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  341 


Nay,  that  it  has  been  seen,  when  the  water  of  the  lake  was  unu 
sually  low.  There  were  large  iron  rings  at  each  end,  but  all  at 
tempts  to  move  it  were  ineffectual ;  either  the  gold  it  contained 
was  too  ponderous,  or  what  is  more  probable,  it  was  secured  by 
one  of  those  magic  spells  usually  laid  upon  hidden  treasure.  It 
remains,  therefore,  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake  to  this  day  ;  and  it 
is  to  be  hoped,  may  one  day  or  other  be  discovered  by  the  present 
worthy  proprietor. 


CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


ROBIN  HOOD  AND  SHERWOOD  FOREST. 

WHILE  at  Newstead  Abbey  I  took  great  delight  in  riding  and 
rambling  about  the  neighborhood,  studying  out  the  traces  of 
merry  Sherwood  Forest,  and  visiting  the  haunts  of  Robin  Hood. 
The  relics  of  the  old  forest  are  few  and  scattered,  but  as  to  the 
bold  outlaw  who  once  held  a  kind  of  freebooting  sway  over  it, 
there  is  scarce  a  hill  or  dale,  a  cliff  or  cavern,  a  well  or  fountain, 
in  this  part  of  the  country,  that  is  not  connected  with  his  mem 
ory.  The  very  names  of  some  of  the  tenants  on  the  Newstead 
estate,  such  as  Beardall  and  Hardstaff,  sound  as  if  they  may  have 
been  borne  in  old  times  by  some  of  the  stalwart  fellows  of  the 
outlaw  gang. 

One  of  the  earliest  books  that  captivated  my  fancy  when  a 
child,  was  a  collection  of  Robin  Hood  ballads,  "  adorned  with 
cuts,"  which  I  bought  of  an  old  Scotch  pedler.  at  the  cost  of  all 
my  holiday  money.  How  I  devoured  its  pages,  and  gazed  upon 
is  uncouth  wood  cuts  !  For  a  time  my  mind  was  filled  with  pic- 
turings  of  "  merry  Sherwood,"  and  the  exploits  and  revelling  of 
the  bold  foresters ;  and  Robin  Hood,  Little  John,  Friar  Tuck, 
and  their  doughty  compeers,  were  my  heroes  of  romance. 

These  early  feelings  were  in  some  degree  revived  when  I 
found  myself  in  the  very  heart  of  the  far-famed  forest,  and,  as  I 
said  before,  I  took  a  kind  of  schoolboy  delight  in  hunting  up  all 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  343 


traces  of  old  Sherwood  and  its  sylvan  chivalry.  One  of  the 
first  of  my  antiquarian  rambles  was  on  horseback,  in  company 
with  Colonel  Wildman  and  his  lady,  who  undertook  to  guide  me 
to  some  of  the  mouldering  monuments  of  the  forest.  One  of  these 
stands  in  front  of  the  very  gate  of  Newstead  Park,  and  is  known 
throughout  the  country  by  the  name  of  "  The  Pilgrim  Oak." 
It  is  a  venerable  tree,  of  great  size,  overshadowing  a  wide  arena 
of  the  road.  Under  its  shade  the  rustics  of  the  neighborhood 
have  been  accustomed  to  assemble  on  certain  holidays,  and  cele 
brate  their  rural  festivals.  This  custom  had  been  handed  down 
from  father  to  son  for  several  generations,  until  the  oak  had 
acquired  a  kind  of  sacred  character. 

The  "  old  Lord  Byron,"  however,  in  whose  eyes  nothing  was 
sacred,  when  he  laid  his  desolating  hand  on  the  groves  and  forests 
of  Newstead,  doomed  likewise  this  traditional  tree  to  the  axe. 
Fortunately  the  good  people  of  Nottingham  heard  of  the  danger 
of  their  favorite  oak,  and  hastened  to  ransom  it  from  destruction. 
They  afterwards  made  a  present  of  it  to  the  poet,  when  he  came 
to  the  estate,  and  the  Pilgrim  Oak  is  likely  to  continue  a  rural 
gathering  place  for  many  coming  generations. 

From  this  magnificent  and  time-honored  tree  we  continued 
on  our  sylvan  research,  in  quest  of  another  oak,  of  more  ancient 
date  and  less  nourishing  condition.  A  ride  of  two  or  three  miles, 
the  latter  part  across  open  wastes,  once  clothed  with  forest,  now 
bare  and  cheerless,  brought  us  to  the  tree  in  question.  It  was 
the  Oak  of  Ravenshead,  one  of  the  last  survivors  of  old  Sher 
wood,  and  which  had  evidently  once  held  a  high  head  in  the 
forest ;  it  was  now  a  mere  wreck,  crazed  by  time,  and  blasted  by 
lightning,  and  standing  alone  on  a  naked  waste,  like  a  ruined 
column  in  a  desert. 


344  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


"  The  scenes  are  desert  now,  and  bare, 
Where  flourished  once  a  forest  fair, 
When  these  waste  glens  with  copse  were  lined, 
And  peopled  with  the  hart  and  hind. 
Yon  lonely  oak,  would  he  could  tell 
The  changes  of  his  parent  dell, 
Since  he,  so  gray  and  stubborn  now, 
Waved  in  each  breeze  a  sapling  bough. 
Would  he  could  tell  how  deep  the  shade 
A  thousand  mingled  branches  made. 
Here  in  my  shade,  methinks  he'd  say, 
The  mighty  stag  at  noontide  lay, 
While  doe,  and  roe,  and  red-deer  good, 
Have  bounded  by  through  gay  green- wood." 

At  no  great  distance  from  Ravenshead  Oak  is  a  small  cave 
which  goes  by  the  name  of  Robin  Hood's  stable.  It  is  in  the 
breast  of  a  hill,  scooped  out  of  brown  freestone,  with  rude 
attempts  at  columns  and  arches.  Within  are  two  niches,  which 
served,  it  is  said,  as  stalls  for  the  bold  outlaw's  horses.  To  .this 
retreat  he  retired  when  hotly  pursued  by  the  law,  for  the  place 
was  a  secret  even  from  his  band.  The  cave  is  overshadowed  by 
an  oak  and  alder,  and  is  hardly  discoverable  even  at  the  present 
day  ;  but  when  the  country  was  overrun  with  forest  it  must  have 
been  completely  concealed. 

There  was  an  agreeable  wildness  and  loneliness  in  a  great 
part  of  our  ride.  Our  devious  road  wound  down,  at  one  time, 
among  rocky  dells,  by  wandering  streams,  and  lonely  pools, 
haunted  by  shy  water  fowl.  We  passed  through  a  skirt  of  wood 
land,  of  more  modern  planting,  but  considered  a  legitimate  off 
spring  of  the  ancient  forest,  and  commonly  called  Jock  of  Sher 
wood.  In  riding  through  these  quiet,  solitary  scenes,  the  par- 


NEWSTEAD   ABBEY.  345 


tridge  and  pheasant  would  now  and  then  burst  upon  the  wing, 
and  the  hare  scud  away  before  us. 

Another  of  these  rambling  rides  in  quest  of  popular  antiqui 
ties,  was  to  a  chain  of  rocky  cliffs,  called  the  Kirkby  Crags,  which 
skirt  the  Robin  Hood  hills.  Here,  leaving  my  horse  at  the  foot 
of  the  crags,  I  scaled  their  rugged  sides,  and  seated  myself  in  a 
niche  of  the  rocks,  called  Robin  Hood's  chair.  It  commands  a 
wide  prospect  over  the  valley  of  Newstead,  and  here  the  bold 
outlaw  is  said  to  have  taken  his  seat,  and  kept  a  look-out  upon 
the  roads  below,  watching  for  merchants,  and  bishops,  and  other 
wealthy  travellers,  upon  whom  to  pounce  down,  like  an  eagle 
from  his  eyrie. 

Descending  from  the  cliffs  and  remounting  my  horse,  a  ride 
of  a  mile  or  two  further  along  a  narrow  "  robber  path,"  as  it  was 
called,  which  wound  up  into  the  hills  between  perpendicular 
rocks,  led  to  an  artificial  cavern  cut  in  the  face  of  a  cliff,  with  a 
door  and  window  wrought  through  the  living  stone.  This  bears 
the  name  of  Friar  Tuck's  cell,  or  hermitage,  where,  according  to 
tradition,  that  jovial  anchorite  used  to  make  good  cheer  and  bois 
terous  revel  with  his  freebooting  comrades. 

Such  were  some  of  the  vestiges  of  old  Sherwood  and  its 
renowned  "  yeomandrie,"  which  I  visited  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Newstead.  The  worthy  clergyman  who  officiated  as  chaplain 
at  the  Abbey,  seeing  my  zeal  in  the  cause,  informed  me  of  a  con 
siderable  tract  of  the  ancient  forest,  still  in  existence  about  ten 
miles  distant.  There  were  many  fine  old  oaks  in  it,  he  said,  that 
had  stood  for  centuries,  but  were  now  shattered  and  "  stag- 
headed,"  that  is  to  say,  their  upper  branches  were  bare,  and 
blasted,  and  straggling  out  like  the  antlers  of  a  deer.  Their 
trunks,  too,  were  hollow,  and  full  of  crows  and  jackdaws,  who 

15* 


346  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


made  them  their  nestling  places.  He  occasionally  rode  over  to 
the  forest  in  the  long  summer  evenings,  and  pleased  himself  with 
loitering  in  the  twilight  about  the  green  alleys  and  under  the 
venerable  trees. 

The  description  given  by  the  chaplain  made  me  anxious  to 
visit  this  remnant  of  old  Sherwood,  and  he  kindly  offered  to  be 
my  guide  and  companion.  We  accordingly  sallied  forth  one 
morning  on  horseback  on  this  sylvan  expedition.  Our  ride  took 
us  through  a  part  of  the  country  where  King  John  had  once  held 
a  hunting  seat ;  the  ruins  of  which  are  still  to  be  seen.  At  that 
time  the  whole  neighborhood  was  an  open  royal  forest,  or  Frank 
chase,  as  it  was  termed ;  for  King  John  was  an  enemy  to  parks 
and  warrens,  and  other  inclosures,  by  which  game  was  fenced  in 
for  the  private  benefit  and  recreation  of  the  nobles  and  the 
clergy. 

Here,  on  the  brow  of  a  gentle  hill,  commanding  an  extensive 
prospect  of  what  had  once  been  forest,  stood  another  of  those 
monumental  trees,  which,  to  my  mind,  gave  a  peculiar  interest  to 
this  neighborhood.  It  was  the  Parliament  Oak,  so  called  in 
memory  of  an  assemblage  of  the  kind  keld  by  King  John  beneath 
its  shade.  The  lapse  of  upwards  of  six  centuries  had  reduced 
this  once  mighty  tree  to  a  mere  crumbling  fragment,  yet,  like  a 
gigantic  torso  in  ancient  statuary,  the  grandeur  of  the  mutilated 
trunk  gave  evidence  of  what  it  had  been  in  the  days  of  its  glory. 
In  contemplating  its  mouldering  remains,  the  fancy  busied  itself 
in  calling  up  the  scene  that  must  have  been  presented  beneath 
its  shade,  when  this  sunny  hill  swarmed  with  the  pageantry  of  a 
warlike  and  hunting  court.  When  silken  pavilions  and  warrior 
tents  decked  its  crest,  and  royal  standards,  and  baronial  banners, 
and  knightly  pennons  rolled  out  to  the  breeze.  When  prelates 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  347 


and  courtiers,  and  steel-clad  chivalry  thronged  round  the  person 
of  the  monarch,  while  at  a  distance  loitered  the  foresters  in 
green,  and  all  the  rural  and  hunting  train  that  waited  upon  his 
sylvan  sports. 

"  A  thousand  vassals  mustered  round 
With  horse,  and  hawk,  and  horn,  and  hound  ; 
And  through  the  brake  the  rangers  stalk, 
And  falc'ners  hold  the  ready  hawk  ; 
And  foresters  in  green-wood  trim 
Lead  in  the  leash  the  greyhound  grim." 

Such  was  the  phantasmagoria  that  presented  itself  for  a  mo 
ment  to  my  imagination,  peopling  the  silent  place  before  me  with 
empty  shadows  of  the  past.  The  reverie  however  was  transient ; 
king,  courtier,  and  steel-clad  warrior,  and  forester  in  green,  with 
horn,  and  hawk,  and  hound,  all  faded  again  into  oblivion,  and  I 
awoke  to  all  that  remained  of  this  once  stirring  scene  of  human 
pomp  and  power — a  mouldering  oak,  and  a  tradition. 

"  We  are  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of !" 

A  ride  of  a  few  miles  further  brought  us  at  length  among  the 
venerable  and  classic  shades  of  Sherwood.  Here  I  was  delighted 
to  find  myself  in  a  genuine  wild  wood,  of  primitive  and  natural 
growth,  so  rarely  to  be  met  with  in  this  thickly  peopled  and 
highly  cultivated  country.  It  reminded  me  of  the  aboriginal 
forests  of  my  native  land.  I  rode  through  natural  alleys  and 
green-wood  groves,  carpeted  with  grass  and  shaded  by  lofty  and 
beautiful  birches.  What  most  interested  me,  however,  was  to 
behold  around  me  the  mighty  trunks  of  veteran  oaks,  old  monu 
mental  trees,  the  patriarchs  of  Sherwood  Forest.  They  were 


348  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


shattered,  hollow,  and  moss-grown,  it  is  true,  and  their  "  leafy 
honors"  were  nearly  departed  ;  but  like  mouldering  towers  they 
were  noble  and  picturesque  in  their  decay,  and  gave  evidence, 
even  in  their  ruins,  of  their  ancient  grandeur. 

As  I  gazed  about  me  upon  these  vestiges  of  once  "  Merrie 
Sherwood,"  the  picturings  of  my  boyish  fancy  began  to  rise  in 
my  mind,  and  Robin  Hood  and  his  men  to  stand  before  me. 

"  He  clothed  himself  in  scarlet  then, 

His  men  were  all  in  green  ; 
A  finer  show  throughout  the  world 
In  no  place  could  be  seen. 

Good  lord  !  it  was  a  gallant  sight 

To  see  them  all  in  a  row  ; 
With  every  man  a  good  broad-sword 

And  eke  a  good  yew  bow." 

The  horn  of  Robin  Hood  again  seemed  to  resound  through 
the  forest.  I  saw  this  sylvan  chivalry,  half  huntsmen,  half  free 
booters,  trooping  across  the  distant  glades,  or  feasting  and  revel 
ling  beneath  the  trees ;  I  was  going  on  to  embody  in  this  way  all 
the  ballad  scenes  that  had  delighted  me  when  a  boy,  when  the 
distant  sound  of  a  wood-cutter's  axe  roused  me  from  my  day 
dream. 

The  boding  apprehensions  which  it  awakened  were  too  soon 
verified.  I  had  not  ridden  much  further,  when  I  came  to  an 
open  space  where  the  work  of  destruction  was  going  on.  Around 
me  lay  the  prostrate  trunks  of  venerable  oaks,  once  the  towering 
and  magnificent  lords  of  the  forest,  and  a  number  of  wood-cutters 
were  hacking  and  hewing  at  another  gigantic  tree,  just  tottering 
to  its  fall. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  349 


Alas  !  for  old  Sherwood  Forest :  it  had  fallen  mto  the  posses 
sion  of  a  noble  agriculturist ;  a  modern  utilitarian,  who  had  no 
feeling  for  poetry  or  forest  scenery.  In  a  little  while  and  this 
glorious  woodland  will  be  laid  low ;  its  green  glades  be  turned  into 
sheep-walks ;  its  legendary  bowers  supplanted  by  turnip-fields ; 
and  "  Merrie  Sherwood  "  will  exist  but  in  ballad  and  tradition. 

"  0  for  the  poetical  superstitions,"  thought  I,  "  of  the  olden 
time  !  that  shed  a  sanctity  over  every  grove ;  that  gave  to  each 
tree  its  tutelar  genius  or  nymph,  and  threatened  disaster  to  all 
who  should  molest  the  hamadryads  in  their  leafy  abodes.  Alas  ! 
for  the  sordid  propensities  of  modern  days,  when  every  thing  is 
coined  into  gold,  and  this  once  holiday  planet  of  ours  is  turned 
into  a  mere  'working-day  world.'  " 

My  cobweb  fancies  put  to  flight,  and  my  feelings  out  of  tune, 
I  left  the  forest  in  a  far  different  mood  from  that  in  which  I  had 
entered  it,  and  rode  silently  along  until,  on  reaching  the  summit 
of  a  gentle  eminence,  the  chime  of  evening  bells  came  on  the 
breeze  across  the  heath  from  a  distant  village. 

I  paused  to  listen. 

"  They  are  merely  the  evening  bells  of  Mansfield,"  said  my 
companion. 

"  Of  Mansfield  !"  Here  was  another  of  the  legendary  names 
of  this  storied  neighborhood,  that  called  up  early  and  pleasant 
associations.  The  famous  old  ballad  of  the  King  and  the  Miller 
of  Mansfield  came  at  once  to  mind,  and  the  chime  of  the  bells  put 
me  again  in  good  humor. 

A  little  further  on,  and  we  were  again  on  the  traces  of  Robin 
Hood.  Here  was  Fountain  Dale,  where  he  had  his  encounter 
with  that  stalwart  shaveling  Friar  Tuck,  who  was  a  kind  of  saint 
militant,  alternately  wearing  the  casque  and  the  cowl : 


350  CRAYON    MISCELLANY. 


"  The  curtal  fryar  kept  Fountain  dale 

Seven  long  years  and  more, 
There  was  neither  lord,  knight  or  earl 
Could  make  him  yield  before." 

t  The  moat  is  still  shown  which  is  said  to  have  surrounded  the 
strong-hold  of  this  jovial  and  fighting  friar  ;  and  the  place  where 
he  and  Robin  Hood  had  their  sturdy  trial  of  strength  and 
prowess,  in  the  memorable  conflict  which  lasted 

"  From  ten  o'clock  that  very  day 
Until  four  in  the  afternoon," 

and  ended  in  the  treaty  of  fellowship.  As  to  the  hardy  feats, 
both  of  sword  and  trencher,  performed  by  this  "  curtal  fryar," 
behold  are  they  not  recorded  at  length  in  the  ancient  ballads, 
and  in  the  magic  pages  of  Ivanhoe  ? 

The  evening  was  fast  coming  on,  and  the  twilight  thickening 
as  we  rode  through  these  haunts  famous  in  outlaw  story.  A 
melancholy  seemed  to  gather  over  the  landscape  as  we  proceeded, 
for  our  course  lay  by  shadowy  woods,  and  across  naked  heaths, 
and  along  lonely  roads,  marked  by  some  of  those  sinister  names 
by  which  the  country  people  in  England  are  apt  to  make  dreary 
places  still  more  dreary.  The  horrors  of  "  Thieves'  Wood,"  and 
the  « Murderers'  Stone,"  and  « the  Hag  Nook,"  had  all  to  be 
encountered  in  the  gathering  gloom  of  evening,  and  threatened 
to  beset  our  path  with  more  than  mortal  peril.  Happily,  how 
ever,  we  passed  these  ominous  places  unharmed,  and  arrived  in 
safety  at  the  portal  of  Newstead  Abbey,  highly  satisfied  with  our 
greenwood  foray. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  351 


THE  ROOK  CELL. 

IN  the  course  of  my  sojourn  at  the  Abbey,  I  changed  my  quar 
ters  from  the  magnificent  old  state  apartment  haunted  by  Sir 
John  Byron  the  Little,  to  another  in  a  remote  corner  of  the 
ancient  edifice,  immediately  adjoining  the  ruined  chapel.  It 
possessed  still  more  interest  in  my  eyes,  from  having  been  the 
sleeping  apartment  of  Lord  Byron  during  his  residence  at  the 
Abbey.  The  furniture  remained  the  same.  Here  was  the  bed 
in  which  he  slept,  and  which  he  had  brought  with  him  from  col 
lege  ;  its  gilded  posts  surmounted  by  coronets,  giving  evidence 
of  his  aristocratical  feelings.  Here  was  likewise  his  college  sofa  ; 
and  about  the  walls  were  the  portraits  of  his  favorite  butler,  old 
Joe  Murray,  of  his  fancy  acquaintance,  Jackson  the  pugilist, 
together  with  pictures  of  Harrow  School  and  the  College  at  Cam 
bridge,  at  which  he  was  educated. 

The  bedchamber  goes  by  the  name  of  the  Rook  Cell,  from  its 
vicinity  to  the  Rookery  which,  since  time  immemorial,  has  main 
tained  possession  of  a  solemn  grove  adjacent  to  the  chapel.  This 
venerable  community  afforded  me  much  food  for  speculation  during 
my  residence  in  this  apartment.  In  the  morning  I  used  to  hear 
them  gradually  waking  and  seeming  to  call  each  other  up.  After 
a  time,  the  whole  fraternity  would  be  in  a  flutter  ;  some  balan 
cing  and  swinging  on  the  tree  tops,  others  perched  on  the  pinna- 


352  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


cle  of  the  Abbey  church,  or  wheeling  and  hovering  about  in  the 
air,  and  the  ruined  walls  would  reverberate  with  their  incessant 
cawings.  In  this  way  they  would  linger  about  the  rookery  and 
its  vicinity  for  the  early  part  of  the  morning,  when,  having 
apparently  mustered  all  their  forces,  called  over  the  roll,  and 
determined  upon  their  line  of  march,  they  one  and  all  would  sail 
off  in  a  long  straggling  flight  to  maraud  the  distant  fields. 
They  would  forage  the  country  for  miles,  and  remain  absent  all 
day,  excepting  now  and  then  a  scout  would  come  home,  as  if  to 
see  that  all  was  well.  Towards  night  the  whole  host  might  be 
seen,  like  a  dark  cloud  in  the  distance,  winging  their  way  home 
ward.  They  came,  as  it  were,  with  whoop  and  halloo,  wheeling 
high  in  the  air  above  the  Abbey,  making  various  evolutions  before 
they  alighted,  and  then  keeping  up  an  incessant  cawing  in  the 
tree  tops,  until  they  gradually  fell  asleep. 

It  is  remarked  at  the  Abbey,  that  the  rooks,  though  they 
sally  forth  on  forays  throughout  the  week,  yet  keep  about  the 
venerable  edifice  on  Sundays,  as  if  they  had  inherited  a  reverence 
for  the  day,  from  their  ancient  confreres,  the  monks.  Indeed,  a 
believer  in  the  metempsychosis  might  easily  imagine  these  Gothic- 
looking  birds  to  be  the  embodied  souls  of  the  ancient  friars  still 
hovering  about  their  sanctified  abode. 

I  dislike  to  disturb  any  point  of  popular  and  poetic  faith,  and 
was  loth,  therefore,  to  question  the  authenticity  of  this  myste 
rious  reverence  for  the  Sabbath,  on  the  part  of  the  Newstead 
rooks ;  but  certainly  in  the  course  of  my  sojourn  in  the  Rook  Cell, 
I  detected  them  in  a  flagrant  outbreak  and  foray  on  a  bright 
Sunday  morning. 

Beside  the  occasional  clamor  of  the  rookery,  this  remote 
apartment  was  often  greeted  with  sounds  of  a  different  kind,  from 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  353 


- 
the  neighboring  ruins.     The  great  lancet  window  in  front  of  the 

chapel,  adjoins  the  very  wall  of  the  chamber  ;  and  the  myste 
rious  sounds  from  it  at  night,  have  been  well  described  by  Lord 
Byron : 


Now  loud,  now  frantic, 


The  gale  sweeps  through  its  fretwork,  and  oft  sings 
The  owl  his  anthem,  when  the  silent  quire 
Lie  with  their  hallelujahs  quenched  like  fire. 

But  on  the  noontide  of  the  moon,  and  when 

The  wind  is  winged  from  one  point  of  heaven, 
There  moans  a  strange  unearthly  sound,  which  then 

Is  musical — a  dying  accent  driven 
Through  the  huge  arch,  which  soars  and  sinks  again. 

Some  deem  it  but  the  distant  echo  given 
Back  to  the  night  wind  by  the  waterfall, 

And  harmonized  by  the  old  choral  wall. 

Others,  that  some  original  shape  or  form, 

Shaped  by  decay  perchance,  hath  given  the  power 

To  this  gray  ruin,  with  a  voice  to  charm. 

Sad,  but  serene,  it  sweeps  o'er  tree  or  tower  ; 

The  cause  I  know  not,  nor  can  solve  ;  but  such 

The  fact : — I've  heard  it, — once  perhaps  too  much." 

Never  was  a  traveller  in  quest  of  the  romantic  in  greater  luck. 
I  had,  in  sooth,  got  lodged  in  another  haunted  apartment  of  the 
Abbey  ;  for  in  this  chamber  Lord  Byron  declared  he  had  more 
than  once  been  harassed  at  midnight  by  a  mysterious  visitor.  A 
black  shapeless  form  would  sit  cowering  upon  his  bed,  and  after 
gazing  at  him  for  a  time  with  glaring  eyes,  would  roll  off  and 
disappear.  The  same  uncouth  apparition  is  said  to  have  disturbed 


354  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


the  slumbers  of  a  newly  married  couple  that  once  passed  their 
honey-moon  in  this  apartment. 

I  would  observe,  that  the  access  to  the  Rook  Cell  is  by  a 
spiral  stone  staircase  leading  up  into  it,  as  into  a  turret,  from  the 
long  shadowy  corridor  over  the  cloisters,  one  of  the  midnight 
walks  of  the  goblin  friar.  Indeed,  to  the  fancies  engendered  in 
his  brain  in  this  remote  and  lonely  apartment,  incorporated  with 
the  floating  superstitions  of  the  Abbey,  we  are  no  doubt  indebted 
for  the  spectral  scene  in  Don  Juan. 

"  Then  as  the  night  was  clear,  though  cold,  he  threw 

His  chamber  door  wide  open — and  went  forth 
Into  a  gallery,  of  sombre  hue, 

Long  furnish'd  with  old  pictures  of  great  worth, 
Of  knights  and  dames,  heroic  and  chaste  too, 
As  doubtless  should  be  people  of  high  birth. 


No  sound  except  the  echo  of  his  sigh 

Or  step  ran  sadly  through  that  antique  house, 

When  suddenly  he  heard,  or  thought  so,  nigh., 
A  supernatural  agent — or  a  mouse, 

Whose  little  nibbling  rustle  will  embarrass 

Most  people,  as  it  plays  along  the  arras. 

It  was  no  mouse,  but  lo  !  a  monk,  arrayed 

In  cowl,  and  beads,  and  dusky  garb,  appeared, 

Now  in  the  moonlight,  and  now  lapsed  in  shade  ; 
With  steps  that  trod  as  heavy,  yet  unheard  ; 

His  garments  only  a  slight. murmur  made  ; 
He  moved  as  shadowy  as  the  sisters  weird, 

But  slowly  ;  and  as  he  passed  Juan  by 

Glared,  without  pausing,  on  him  a  bright  eye. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  355 


Juan  was  petrified  ;  he  had  heard  a  hint 

Of  such  a  spirit  in  these  halls  of  old, 
But  thought,  like  most  men,  there  was  nothing  in't 

Beyond  the  rumor  which  such  spots  unfold, 
Coin'd  from  surviving  superstition's  mint, 

Which  passes  ghosts  in  currency  like  gold, 
But  rarely  seen,  like  gold  compared  with  paper. 
And  did  he  see  this  ?  or  was  it  a  vapor  1 

Once,  twice,  thrice  pass'd,  repass'd — the  thing  of  air, 
Or  earth  beneath,  or  heaven,  or  t'other  place  ; 

And  Juan  gazed  upon  it  with  a  stare, 

Yet  could  not  speak  or  move  ;  but,  on  its  base 

As  stands  a  statue,  stood  :  he  felt  his  hair 
Twine  like  a  knot  of  snakes  around  his  face  ; 

He  tax'd  his  tongue  for  words,  which  were  not  granted. 

To  ask  the  reverend  person  what  he  wanted. 

The  third  time,  after  a  still  longer  pause, 

The  shadow  pass'd  away — but  where  1  the  hall 

Was  long,  and  thus  far  there  was  no  great  cause 
To  think  his  vanishing  unnatural : 

Doors  there  were  many,  through  which,  by  the  laws 
Of  physics,  bodies,  whether  short  or  tall, 

Might  come  or  go  ;  but  Juan  could  not  state 

Through  which  the  spectre  seem'd  to  evaporate. 

He  stood,  how  long  he  knew  not,  but  it  seem'd 
An  age — expectant,  powerless,  with  his  eyes 

Strain'd  on  the  spot  where  first  the  figure  gleam'd  ; 
Then  by  degrees  recall'd  his  energies, 

And  would  have  pass'd  the  whole  off  as  a  dream, 
But  could  not  wake  ;  he  was,  he  did  surmise, 

Waking  already,  and  return'd  at  length 

Back  to  his  chamber,  shorn  of  half  his  strength." 


356  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


As  I  have  already  observed,  it  is  difficult  to  determine 
whether  Lord  Byron  was  really  subject  to  the  superstitious 
fancies  which  have  been  imputed  to  him,  or  whether  he  merely 
amused  himself  by  giving  currency  to  them  among  his  domes 
tics  and  dependents.  He  certainly  never  scrupled  to  express 
a  belief  in  supernatural  visitations,  both  verbally  and  in  his 
correspondence.  If  such  were  his  foible,  the  Rook  Cell  was  an 
admirable  place  to  engender  these  delusions.  As  I  have  lain 
awake  at  night,  I  have  heard  all  kinds  of  mysterious  and  sighing 
sounds  from  the  neighboring  ruin.  Distant  footsteps,  too,  and 
the  closing  of  doors  in  remote  parts  of  the  Abbey,  would  send 
hollow  reverberations  and  echoes  along  the  corridor  and  up  the 
spiral  staircase.  Once,  in  fact,  I  was  roused  by  a  strange  sound 
at  the  very  door  of  my  chamber.  I  threw  it  open,  and  a  form 
"  black  and  shapeless  with  glaring  eyes "  stood  before  me.  It 
proved,  however,  neither  ghost  nor  goblin,  but  my  friend  Boat 
swain,  the  great  Newfoundland  dog,  who  had  conceived  a  com 
panionable  liking  for  me,  and  occasionally  sought  me  in  my 
apartment.  To  the  hauntings  of  even  such  a  visitant  as  honest 
Boatswain  may  we  attribute  some  of  the  marvellous  stories  about 
the  Goblin  Friar. 


NEWSTEAD   ABBEY.  357 


THE  LITTLE  WHITE  LADY. 

IN  the  course  of  a  morning's  ride  with  Colonel  Wildman,  about 
the  Abbey  lands,  we  found  ourselves  in  one  of  the  prettiest  little 
wild-woods  imaginable.  The  road  to  it  had  led  us  among  rocky 
ravines  overhung  with  thickets,  and  now  wound  through  birchen 
dingles  and  among  beautiful  groves  and  clumps  of  elms  and 
beeches.  A  limpid  rill  of  sparkling  water,  winding  and  doubling 
in  perplexed  mazes,  crossed  our  path  repeatedly,  so  as  to  give 
the  wood  the  appearance  of  being  watered  by  numerous  rivulets. 
The  solitary  and  romantic  look  of  this  piece  of  woodland,  and 
the  frequent  recurrence  of  its  mazy  stream,  put  him  in  mind. 
Colonel  Wildman  said,  of  the  little  German  fairy  tale  of  Undine, 
in  which  is  recorded  the  adventures  of  a  knight  who  had  married 
a  water-nymph.  As  he  rode  with  his  bride  through  her  native 
woods,  every  stream  claimed  her  as  a  relative  ;  one  was  a  brother, 
another  an  uncle,  another  a  cousin. 

We  rode  on  amusing  ourselves  with  applying  this  fanciful 
tale  to  the  charming  scenery  around  us,  until  we  came  to  a  lowly 
gray-stone  farmhouse,  of  ancient  date,  situated  in  a  solitary  glen, 
on  the  margin  of  the  brook,  and  overshadowed  by  venerable 
trees.  It  went  by  the  name,  as  I  was  told,  of  the  Weir  Mill 
farmhouse.  With  this  rustic  mansion  was  connected  a  little  tale 
of  real  life,  some  circumstances  of  which  were  related  to  me  on 


358  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


the  spot,  and  others  I  collected  in  the  course  of  my  sojourn  at 
the  Abbey. 

Not  long  after  Colonel  Wildman  had  purchased  the  estate  of 
Newstead,  he  made  it  a  visit  for  the  purpose  of  planning  repairs 
and  alterations.  As  he  was  rambling  one  evening,  about  dusk, 
in  company  with  his  architect,  through  this  little  piece  of  wood 
land,  he  was  struck  with  its  peculiar  characteristics,  and  then,  for 
the  first  time,  compared  it  to  the  haunted  wood  of  Undine. 
While  he  was  making  the  remark,  a  small  female  figure,  in  white, 
flitted  by  without  speaking  a  word,  or  indeed  appearing  to  notice 
them.  Her  step  was  scarcely  heard  as  she  passed,  and  her  form 
was  indistinct  in  the  twilight. 

"  What  a  figure  for  a  fairy  or  sprite !"  exclaimed  Colonel 
Wildman.  "  How  much  a  poet  or  a  romance  writer  would  make  of 
such  an  apparition,  at  such  a  time  and  in  such  a  place  !" 

He  began  to  congratulate  himself  upon  having  some  elfin 
inhabitant  for  his  haunted  wood,  when,  on  proceeding  a  few  paces, 
he  found  a  white  frill  lying  in  the  path,  which  had  evidently 
fallen  from  the  figure  that  had  just  passed. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  after  all,  this  is  neither  sprite  nor  fairy, 
but  a  being  of  flesh,  and  blood,  and  muslin." 

Continuing  on,  he  came  to  where  the  road  passed  by  an  old 
mill  in  front  of  the  Abbey.  The  people  of  the  mill  were  at  the 
door.  He  paused  and  inquired  whether  any  visitor  had  been  at 
the  Abbey,  but  was  answered  in  the  negative. 

"  Has  nobody  passed  by  here  ?" 

"  No  one,  sir." 

"  That's  strange  !  Surely  I  met  a  female  in  white,  who  must 
have  passed  along  this  path." 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  359 


"  Ob,  sir,  you  mean  the  Little  White  Lady — oh,  yes,  she 
passed  by  here  not  long  since." 

"  The  Little  White  Lady  !  And  pray  who  is  the  Little  White 
Lady  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  that  nobody  knows ;  she  lives  in  the  Weir  Mill 
farmhouse,  down  in  the  skirts  of  the  wood.  She  comes  to  the 
Abbey  every  morning,  keeps  about  it  all  day,  and  goes  away  at 
night.  She  speaks  to  nobody,  and  we  are  rather  shy  of  her,  for 
we  don't  know  what  to  make  of  her." 

Colonel  Wildman  now  concluded  that  it  was  some  artist  or 
amateur  employed  in  making  sketches  of  the  Abbey,  and  thought 
no  more  about  the  matter.  He  went  to  London,  and  was  absent 
for  some  time.  In  the  interim,  his  sister,  who  was  newly  married, 
came  with  her  husband  to  pass  the  honey-moon  at  the  Abbey. 
The  Little  White  Lady  still  resided  in  the  Weir  Mill  farmhouse, 
on  the  border  of  the  haunted  wood,  and  continued  her  visits 
daily  to  the  Abbey.  Her  dress  was  always  the  same,  a  white 
gown  with  a  little  black  spencer  or  bodice,  and  a  white  hat  with 
a  short  veil  that  screened  the  upper  part  of  her  countenance. 
Her  habits  were  shy,  lonely,  and  silent ;  she  spoke  to  no  one, 
and  sought  no  companionship,  excepting  with  the  Newfoundland 
dog,  that  had  belonged  to  Lord  Byron.  His  friendship  she 
secured  by  caressing  him  and  occasionally  bringing  him  food,  and 
he  became  the  companion  of  her  solitary  walks.  She  avoided  all 
strangers,  and  wandered  about  the  retired  parts  of  the  garden ; 
sometimes  sitting  for  hours,  by  the  tree  on  which  Lord  Byron  had 
carved  his  name,  or  at  the  foot  of  the  monument  which  he  had 
erected  among  the  ruins  of  the  chapel.  Sometimes  she  read,  some 
times  she  wrote  with  a  pencil  on  a  small  slate  which  she  carried 
with  her,  but  much  of  her  time  was  passed  in  a  kind  of  reverie. 


360  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 

The  people  about  the  place  gradually  became  accustomed  to 
her,  and  suffered  her  to  wander  about  unmolested  ;  their  distrust  . 
of  her  subsided  on  discovering  that  most  of  her  peculiar  and 
lonely  habits  arose  from  the  misfortune  of  being  deaf  and  dumb. 
Still  she  was  regarded  with  some  degree  of  shyness,  for  it  was 
the  common  opinion  that  she  was  not  exactly  in  her  right  mind. 

Colonel  Wildman's  sister  was  informed  of  all  these  circumstan 
ces  by  the  servants  of  the  Abbey,  among  whom  the  Little  White 
Lady  was  a  theme  of  frequent  discussion.  The  Abbey  and  its 
monastic  environs  being  haunted  ground,  it  was  natural  that  a 
mysterious  visitant  of  the  kind,  and  one  supposed  to  be  under 
the  influence  of  mental  hallucination,  should  inspire  awe  in  a 
person  unaccustomed  to  the  place.  As  Colonel  Wildman's  sister 
was  one  day  walking  along  a  broad  terrace  of  the  garden,  she 
suddenly  beheld  the  Little  White  Lady  coming  towards  her,  and, 
in  the  surprise  and  agitation  of  the  moment,  turned  and  ran  into 
the  house. 

Day  after  day  now  elapsed,  and  nothing  more  was  seen  of  this 
singular  personage.  Colonel  Wildman  at  length  arrived  at  the 
Abbey,  and  his  sister  mentioned  to  him  her  rencounter  and  fright 
in  the  garden,  It  brought  to  mind  his  own  adventure  with  the 
Little  White  Lady  in  the  wood  of  Undine,  and  he  was  surprised 
to  find  that  she  still  continued  her  mysterious  wanderings  about 
the  Abbey.  The  mystery  was  soon  explained.  Immediately 
after  his  arrival  he  received  a  letter  written  in  the  most  minute 
and  delicate  female  hand,  and  in  elegant  and  even  eloquent  lan 
guage.  It  was  from  the  Little  White  Lady.  She  had  noticed 
and  been  shocked  by  the  abrupt  retreat  of  Colonel  Wildman's 
sister  on  seeing  her  in  the  garden  walk,  and  expressed  her  unhap- 
piness  at  being  an  object  of  alarm  to  any  of  his  family.  She 


NEWST.EAD  ABBEY.  361 


explained  the  motives  of  her  frequent  and  long  visits  to  the 
Abbey,  whhich  proved  to  be  a  singularly  enthusiastic  idolatry  of 
the  genius  of  Lord  Byron,  and  a  solitary  and  passionate  delight 
in  haunting  the  scenes  he  had  once  inhabited.  She  hinted  at 
the  infirmities  which  cut  her  off  from  all  social  communion  with 
her  fellow  beings,  and  at  her  situation  in  life  as  desolate  and 
bereaved  ;  and  concluded  by  hoping  that  he  would  not  deprive 
her  of  her  only  comfort,  the  permission  of  visiting  the  Abbey 
occasionally,  and  lingering  about  the  walks  and  gardens. 

Colonel  Wildman  now  made  further  inquiries  concerning  her, 
and  found  that  she  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  people  of  the 
farmhouse  where  she  boarded,  from  the  gentleness,  quietude,  and 
innocence  of  her  manners.  When  at  home,  she  passed  the 
greater  part  of  her  time  in  a  small  sitting-room,  reading  and 
vriting. 

Colonel  Wildman  immediately  called  on  her  at  the  farmhouse. 
She  received  him  with  some  agitation  and  embarrassment,  but 
his  frankness  and  urbanity  soon  put  her  at  her  ease.  She  was 
past  the  bloom  of  youth,  a  pale,  nervous  little  being,  and  ap 
parently  deficient  in  most  of  her  physical  organs,  for  in  addition 
to  being  deaf  and  dumb,  she  saw  but  imperfectly.  They  carried 
on  a  communication  by  means  of  a  small  slate,  which  she  drew 
out  of  her  reticule,  and  on  which  they  wrote  their  questions  and 
replies.  In  writing  or  reading  she  always  approached  her  eyes 
close  to  the  written  characters. 

This  defective  organization  was  accompanied  by  a  morbid  sen 
sibility  almost  amounting  to  disease.  She  had  not  been  born 
deaf  and  dumb ;  but  had  lost  her  hearing  in  a  fit  of  sickness, 
and  with  it  the  power  of  distinct  articulation.  Her  life  had  evi 
dently  been  checkered  and  unhappy  ;  she  was  apparently  without 

16 


362  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


family  or  friend,  a  lonely,  desolate  being,  cut  off  from  society  by 
her  infirmities. 

"  I  am  always  amongst  strangers,"  said  she,  "  as  much  so  in 
my  native  country,  as  I  could  be  in  the  remotest  parts  of  the 
world.  By  all  I  am  considered  as  a  stranger  and  an  alien ;  no 
one  will  acknowledge  any  connection  with  me.  I  seem  not  to 
belong  to  the  human  species." 

Such  were  the  circumstances  that  Colonel  Wildman  was  able 
to  draw  forth  in  the  course  of  his  conversation,  and  they  strongly 
interested  him  in  favor  of  this  poor  enthusiast.  He  was  too  de 
vout  an  admirer  of  Lord  Byron  himself,  not  to  sympathize  in 
this  extraordinary  zeal  of  one  of  his  votaries,  and  he  entreated 
her  to  renew  her  visits  to  the  Abbey,  assuring  her  that  the  edifice 
and  its  grounds  should  always  be  open  to  her. 

The  Little  White  Lady  now  resumed  her  daily  walks  in  the 
Monks'  Garden,  and  her  occasional  seat  at  the  foot  of  the  monu 
ment  ;  she  was  shy  and  diffident,  however,  and  evidently  fearful 
of  intruding.  If  any  persons  were  walking  in  the  garden  she 
would  avoid  them,  and  seek  the  most  remote  parts  ;  and  was  seen 
like  a  sprite,  only  by  gleams  and  glimpses,  as  she  glided  among 
the  groves  and  thickets.  Many  of  her  feelings  and  fancies, 
during  these  lonely  rambles,  were  embodied  in  verse,  noted  down 
on  her  tablet,  and  transferred  to  paper  in  the  evening  on  her 
return  to  the  farmhouse.  Some  of  these  verses  now  lie  before 
me,  written  with  considerable  harmony  of  versification,  but  chiefly 
curious  as  being  illustrative  of  that  singular  and  enthusiastic 
idolatry  with  which  she  almost  worshipped  the  genius  of  Byron, 
or  rather,  the  romantic  image  of  him  formed  by  her  imagination. 

Two  or  three  extracts  may  not  be  unacceptable.  The  follow 
ing  are  from  a  long  rhapsody  addressed  to  Lord  Byron  : 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  363 


"  By  what  dread  charm  them  rulest  the  mind 

It  is  not  given  for  us  to  know  ; 
We  glow  with  feelings  undefined, 

Nor  can  explain  from  whence  they  flow. 

Not  that  fond  love  which  passion  breathes 

And  youthful  hearts  inflame  ; 
The  soul  a  nobler  homage  gives, 

And  bows  to  thy  great  name. 

Oft  have  we  own'd  the  muses'  skill, 

And  proved  the  power  of  song, 
But  sweetest  notes  ne'er  woke  the  thrill 

That  solely  to  thy  verse  belong. 

This — but  far  more,  for  thee  we  prove, 

Something  that  bears  a  holier  name, 
Than  the  pure  dream  of  early  love, 

Or  friendship's  nobler  flame. 

Something  divine — Oh  !  what  it  is 

Thy  muse  alone  can  tell, 
So  sweet,  but  so  profound  the  bliss 

We  dread  to  break  the  spell." 

This  singular  and  romantic  infatuation,  for  such  it  might  truly 
Ibe  called,  was  entirely  spiritual  and  ideal,  for,  as  she  herself  de 
clares  in  another  of  her  rhapsodies,  she  had  never  beheld  Lord 
Byron ;  he  was,  to  her,  a  mere  phantom  of  the  brain. 

"  I  ne'er  have  drunk  thy  glance — Thy  form 

My  earthly  eye  has  never  seen, 
Though  oft  when  fancy's  visions  warm, 
It  greets  me  in  some  blissful  dream. 


364  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


Greets  me,  as  greets  the  sainted  seer 

Some  radiant  visitant  from  high, 
When  heaven's  own  strains  break  on  his  ear, 
And  wrap  his  soul  in  ecstasy." 

Her  poetical  wanderings  and  musings  were  not  confined  to 
the  Abbey  grounds,  but  extended  to  all  parts  of  the  neighbor 
hood  connected  with  the  memory  of  Lord  Byron,  and  among  the 
rest  to  the  groves  and  gardens  of  Annesley  Hall,  the  seat  of  his 
early  passion  for  Miss  Chaworth.  One  of  her  poetical  effusions 
mentions  her  having  seen  from  Howet's  Hill  in  Annesley  Park, 
a  "  sylph-like  form,"  in  a  car  drawn  by  milk-white  horses,  passing 
by  the  foot  of  the  hill,  who  proved  to  be  the  '•'  favorite  child," 
seen  by  Lord  Byron,  in  his  memorable  interview  with  Miss 
Chaworth *after  her  marriage.  That  favorite  child  was  now  a 
blooming  girl  approaching  to  womanhood,  and  seems  to  have  un 
derstood  something  of  the  character  and  story  of  this  singular 
visitant,  and  to  have  treated  her  with  gentle  sympathy.  The 
Little  White  Lady  expresses  in  touching  terms,  in  a  note  to  her 
verses,  her  sense  of  this  gentle  courtesy.  "  The  benevolent  con 
descension,"  says  she,  '•  of  that  amiable  and  interesting  young 
lady,  to  the  unfortunate  writer  of  these  simple  lines,  will  remain 
engraved  upon  a  grateful  memory,  till  the  vital  spark  that  now 
animates  a  heart  that  too  sensibly  feels,  and  too  seldom  expe 
riences  such  kindness,  is  for  ever  extinct." 

In  the  meantime,  Colonel  Wildman,  in  occasional  interviews, 
had  obtained  further  particulars  of  the  story  of  the  stranger,  and 
found  that  poverty  was  added  to  the  other  evils  of  her  forlorn 
and  isolated  state.  Her  name  was  Sophia  Hyatt.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  a  country  bookseller,  but  both  her  parents  had  died 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  365 


several  years  before.  At  their  death,  her  sole  dependence  was 
upon  her  brother,  who  allowed  her  a  small  annuity  on  her  share 
of  the  property  left  bj7"  their  father,  and  which  remained  in  his 
hands.  Her  brother,  who  was  a  captain  of  a  merchant  vessel, 
removed  with  his  family  to  America,  leaving  her  almost  alone  in 
the  world,  for  she  had  no  other  relative  in  England  but  a  cousin, 
of  whom  she  knew  almost  nothing.  She  received  her  annuity 
regularly  for  a  time,  but  unfortunately  her  brother  died  in  the 
West  Indies,  leaving  his  affairs  in  confusion,  and  his  estate  over 
hung  by  several  commercial  claims,  which  threatened  to  swallow 
up  the  whole.  Under  these  disastrous  circumstances,  her  annuity 
suddenly  ceased  ;  she  had  in  vain  tried  to  obtain  a  renewal  of  it 
from  the  widow,  or  even  an  account  of  the  state  of  her  brother's 
affairs.  Her  letters  for  three  years  past  had  remained  unan 
swered,  and  she  would  have  been  exposed  to  the  horrors  of  the 
most  abject  want,  but  for  a  pittance  quarterly  doled  out  to  her  by 
her  cousin  in  England. 

Colonel  Wildman  entered  with  characteristic  benevolence  into 
the  story  of  her  troubles.  He  saw  that  she  was  a  helpless,  un 
protected  being,  unable,  from  her  infirmities  and  her  ignorance  of 
the  world,  to  prosecute  her  just  claims.  He  obtained  from  her 
the  address  of  her  relations  in  America,  and  of  the  commercial 
connection  of  her  brother  ;  promised,  through  the  medium  of  his 
own  agents  in  Liverpool,  to  institute  an  inquiry  into  the  situation 
of  her  brother's  affairs,  and  to  forward  any  letters  she  might  write, 
so  as  to  insure  their  reaching  their  place  of  destination. 

Inspired  with  some  faint  hopes,  the  Little  White  Lady  con 
tinued  her  wanderings  about  the  Abbey  and  its  neighborhood. 
The  delicacy  and  timidity  of  her  deportment  increased  the  inter 
est  already  felt  for  her  by  Mrs.  Wildrnan.  That  lady,  with  her 


366  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


wonted  kindness,  sought  to  make  acquaintance  with  her,  and  in 
spire  her  with  confidence.  She  invited  her  into  the  Abbey; 
treated  her  with  the  most  delicate  attention,  and,  seeing  that  she 
had  a  great  turn  for  reading,  offered  her  the  loan  of  any  books  in 
her  possession.  She  borrowed  a  few,  particularly  the  works  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  but  soon  returned  them  5  the  writings  of  Lord 
Byron  seemed  to  form  the  only  study  in  which  she  delighted,  and 
when  not  occupied  in  reading  those,  her  time  was  passed  in  pas 
sionate  meditations  on  his  genius.  Her  enthusiasm  spread  an 
ideal  world  around  her  in  which  she  moved  and  existed  as  in  a 
dream,  forgetful  at  times  of  the  real  miseries  which  beset  her  in 
her  mortal  state. 

One  of  her  rhapsodies  is,  however,  of  a  very  melancholy  cast ; 
anticipating  her  own  death,  which  her  fragile  frame  and  growing 
infirmities  rendered  but  too  probable.  It  is  headed  by  the  follow 
ing  paragraph : 

"  Written  beneath  the  tree  on  Crowholt  Hill,  where  it  is  my 
wish  to  be  interred  (if  I  should  die  in  Newstead)." 

I  subjoin  a  few  of  the  stanzas :  they  are  addressed  to  Lord 
Byron : 

"  Thou,  while  thou  stand's!  beneath  this  tree, 

While  by  thy  foot  this  earth  is  press'd, 
Think,  here  the  wanderer's  ashes  be — 
And  wilt  thou  say,  sweet  be  thy  rest ! 


'Twould  add  even  to  a  seraph's  bliss, 
Whose  sacred  charge  thou  then  may  be, 

To  guide — to  guard — yes,  Byron  !  yes, 
That  glory  is  reserved  for  me. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  367 


If  woes  below  may  plead  above 

A  frail  heart's  errors,  mine  forgiven, 
To  that  "  high  world  "  I  soar,  where  "  love 

Surviving  "  forms  the  bliss  of  Heaven. 

O  wheresoe'er,  in  realms  above, 

Assign'd  my  spirit's  new  abode, 
'Twill  watch  thee  with  a  seraph's  love, 

Till  thou  too  soar'st  to  meet  thy  God. 

And  here,  beneath  this  lonely  tree — 

Beneath  the  earth  thy  feet  have  press'd, 
My  dust  shall  sleep — once  dear  to  thee 

These  scenes — here  may  the  wanderer  rest !" 

In  the  midst  of  her  reveries  and  rhapsodies,  tidings  reached 
Newstead  of  the  untimely  death  of  Lord  Byron.  How  they 
were  received  by  this  humble  but  passionate  devotee  I  could  not 
ascertain  ;  her  life  was  too  obscure  and  lonely  to  furnish  much 
personal  anecdote,  but  among  her  poetical  effusions  are  several 
written  in  a  broken  and  irregular  manner,  and  evidently  under 
great  agitation. 

The  following  sonnet  is  the  most  coherent  and  most  descrip 
tive  of  her  peculiar  state  of  mind : 

"  Well,  thou  art  gone — but  what  wert  thou  to  me  1 

I  never  saw  thee — never  heard  thy  voice, 
Yet  my  soul  seemed  to  claim  affiance  with  thee. 

The  Roman  bard  has  sung  of  fields  Elysian, 
Where  the  soul  sojourns  ere  she  visits  earth  ; 

Sure  it  was  there  my  spirit  knew  thee,  Byron  ! 
Thine  image  haunteth  me  like  a  past  vision  ; 

It  hath  enshrined  itself  in  my  heart's  core  ; 


368  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


'Tis  my  soul's  soul — it  fills  the  whole  creation. 

For  I  do  live  but  in  that  world  ideal 
Which  the  muse  peopleth  with  her  bright  fancies, 

And  of  that  world  thou  art  a  monarch  real, 
Nor  ever  earthly  sceptre  ruled  a  kingdom, 

With  sway  so  potent  as  thy  lyre,  the  mind's  dominion." 

Taking  all  the  circumstances  here  adduced  into  consideration, 
it  is  evident  that  this  strong  excitement  and  exclusive  occupation 
of  the  mind  upon  one  subject,  operating  upon  a  system  in  a  high 
state  of  morbid  irritability,  was  in  danger  of  producing  that 
species  of  mental  derangement  called  monomania.  The  poor 
little  being  was  aware,  herself,  of  the  dangers  of  her  case,  and 
alluded  to  it  in  the  following  passage  of  a  letter  to  Colonel  Wild- 
man,  which  presents  one  of  the  most  lamentable  pictures  of 
anticipated  evil  ever  conjured  up  by  the  human  mind. 

"  I  have  long,"  writes  she,  "  too  sensibly  felt  the  decay  of 
my  mental  faculties,  which  I  consider  as  the  certain  indication  of 
that  dreaded  calamity  which  I  anticipate  with  such  terror.  A 
strange  idea  has  long  haunted  my  mind,  that  Swift's  dreadful 
fate  will  be  mine.  It  is  not  ordinary  ins'anity  I  so  much  appre 
hend,  but  something  worse — absolute  idiotism  ! 

"  0  sir  !  think  what  I  must  suffer  from  such  an  idea,  without 
an  earthly  friend  to  look  up  to  for  protection  in  such  a  wretched 
state — exposed  to  the  indecent  insults  which  such  spectacles 
always  excite.  But  I  dare  not  dwell  upon  the  thought ;  it  would 
facilitate  the  event  I  so  much  dread,  and  contemplate  with  horror. 
Yet  I  cannot  help  thinking  from  people's  behavior  to  me  at 
times,  and  from  after  reflections  upon  my  conduct,  that  symptoms 
of  the  disease  are  already  apparent." 

Five  months  passed  away,  but  the  letters  written  by  her,  and 


NEWSTEAD   ABBEY.  369 


forwarded  by  Colonel  Wildman  to  America  relative  to  her 
brother's  affairs,  remained  unanswered  ;  the  inquiries  instituted 
by  the  Colonel  had  as  yet  proved  equally  fruitless.  A  deeper 
gloom  and  despondency  now  seemed  to  gather  upon  her  mind. 
She  began  to  talk  of  leaving  Newstead,  and  repairing  to  London, 
in  the  vague  hope  of  obtaining  relief  or  redress  by  instituting 
some  legal  process  to  ascertain  and  enforce  the  will  of  her  de 
ceased  brother.  Weeks  elapsed,  however,  before  she  could  sum 
mon  up  sufficient  resolution  to  tear  herself  away  from  the  scene 
of  poetical  fascination.  The  following  simple  stanzas,  selected 
from  a  number  written  about  the  time,  express  in  humble  rhymes 
the  melancholy  that  preyed  upon  her  spirits  : 

"  Farewell  to  thee,  Newstead,  thy  time-riven  towers 

Shall  meet  the  fond  gaze  of  the  pilgrim  no  more  ; 
No  more  may  she  roam  through  thy  walks  and  thy  bowers, 
Nor  muse  in  thy  cloisters  at  eve's  pensive  hour. 

Oh  how  shall  I  leave  you,  ye  hills  and  ye  dales, 
When  lost  in  sad  musing,  though  sad  not  unblest, 

A  lone  pilgrim  I  stray  —  Ah  !  in  these  lonely  vales, 
I  hoped,  vainly  hoped,  that  the  pilgrim  might  rest. 

Yet  rest  is  far  distant  —  in  the  dark  vale  of  death, 

Alone  shall  I  find  it,  an  outcast  forlorn  — 
But  hence  vain  complaints,  though  by  fortune  bereft 

Of  all  that  could  solace  in  life's  early  morn. 

Is  not  man  from  his  birth  doomed  a  pilgrim  to  roam 

O'er  the  world's  dreary  wilds,  whence  by  fortune's  rude  gust, 

In  his  path,  if  some  flowret  of  joy  chanced  to  bloom, 
It  is  torn  and  its  foliage  laid  low  in  the  dust." 
16* 


370  CRAYON   MISCELLANY. 


At  length  she  fixed  upon  a  day  for  her  departure.  On  the 
day  previous,  she  paid  a  farewell  visit  to  the  Abbey  ;  wandering 
over  every  part  of  the  grounds  and  garden  ;  pausing  and  linger 
ing  at  every  place  particularly  associated  with  the  recollection  of 
Lord  Byron ;  and  passing  a  long  time  seated  at  the  foot  of  the 
monument,  which  she  used  to  call  "her  altar."  Seeking  Mrs. 
Wildman,  she  placed  in  her  hands  a  sealed  packet,  with  an  earnest 
request  that  she  would  not  open  it  until  after  her  departure  from 
the  neighborhood.  This  done,  she  took  an  affectionate  leave  of 
her,  and  with  many  bitter  tears  bade  farewell  to  the  Abbey. 

On  retiring  to  her  room  that  evening,  Mrs.  Wildman  could 
not  refrain  from  inspecting  the  legacy  of  this  singular  being. 
On  opening  the  packet,  she  found  a  number  of  fugitive  poems, 
written  in  a  most  delicate  and  minute  hand,  and  evidently  the 
fruits  of  her  reveries  and  meditations  during  her  lonely  rambles  ; 
from  these  the  foregoing  extracts  have  been  made.  These., were 
accompanied  by  a  voluminous  letter,  written  with  the  pathos  and 
eloquence  of  genuine  feeling,  and  depicting  her  peculiar  situation 
and  singular  state  of  mind  in  dark  but  painful  colors, 

"  The  last  time,"  says  she,  "  that  I  had  the  pleasure  of  see 
ing  you,  in  the  garden,  you  asked  me  why  I  leave  Newstead  ; 
when  I  told  you  my  circumstances  obliged  me,  the  expression  of 
concern  which  I  fancied  I  observed  in  your  look  and  manner 
would  have  encouraged  me  to  have  been  explicit  at  the  time,  but 
from  my  inability  of  expressing  myself  verbally." 

She  then  goes  on  to  detail  precisely  her  pecuniary  circum 
stances,  by  which  it  appears  that  her  whole  dependence  for  sub 
sistence  was  on  an  allowance  of  thirteen  pounds  a  year  from  her 
cousin,  who  bestowed  it  through  a  feeling  of  pride,  lest  his  rela 
tive  should  come  upon  the  parish.  During  two  years  this  pit- 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  371 


tance  had  been  augmented  from  other  sources,  to  twenty-three 
pounds,  but  the  last  year  it  had  shrunk  within  its  original  bounds, 
and  was  yielded  so  grudgingly,  that  she  could  not  feel  sure  of  its 
continuance  from  one  quarter  to  another.  More  than  once  it  had 
been  withheld  on  slight  pretences,  and  she  was  in  constant  dread 
lest  it  should  be  entirely  withdrawn. 

"  It  is  with  extreme  reluctance,"  observes  she,  '•  that  I  have 
so  far  exposed  my  unfortunate  situation  ;  but  I  thought  you  ex 
pected  to  know  something  more  of  it,  and  I  feared  that  Colonel 
Wildman,  deceived  by  appearances,  might  think  that  I  am  in  no 
immediate  want,  and  that  the  delay  of  a  few  weeks,  or  months, 
respecting  the  inquiry,  can  be  of  no  material  consequence.  It  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  the  success  of  the  business  that  Colonel 
Wildman  should  know  the  exact  state  of  my  circumstances  with 
out  reserve,  that  he  may  be  enabled  to  make  a  correct  represen 
tation  of  them  to  any  gentleman  whom  he  intends  to  interest, 
who,  I  presume,  if  they  are  not  of  America  themselves,  have  some 
connections  there,  through  whom  my  friends  may  be  convinced  of 
the  reality  of  my  distress,  if  they  pretend  to  doubt  it,  as  I  sup 
pose  they  do  :  but  to  be  more  explicit  is  impossible  ;  it  would  be 
too  humiliating  to  particularize  the  circumstances  of  the  embar 
rassment  in  which  I  am  unhappily  involved — my  utter  destitu 
tion.  To  disclose  all  might,  too,  be  liable  to  an  inference  which 
I  hope  I  am  not  so  void  of  delicacy,  of  natural  pride,  as  to  en 
dure  the  thought  of.  Pardon  me,  madam,  for  thus  giving  trouble 
where  I  have  no  right  to  do — compelled  to  throw  myself  upon 
Colonel  Wildman's  humanity,  to  entreat  his  earnest  exertions  in 
my  behalf,  for  it  is  now  my  only  resource.  Yet  do  not  too  much 
despise  me  for  thus  submitting  to  imperious  necessity — it  is  not 
love  of  life,  believe  me  it  is  not,  nor  anxiety  for  its  preservation. 


372  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


I  cannot  say,  "  There  are  things  that  make  the  world  dear  to 
me?" — for  in  the  world  there  is  not  an  object  to  make  me  wish  to 
linger  here  another  hour,  could  I  find  that  rest  and  peace  in  the 
grave  which  I  have  never  found  on  earth,  and  I  fear  will  be  de 
nied  me  there." 

Another  part  of  her  letter  developes  more  completely  the 
dark  despondency  hinted  at  in  the  conclusion  of  the  foregoing 
extract — and  presents  a  lamentable  instance  of  a  mind  diseased, 
which  sought  in  vain,  amidst  sorrow  and  calamity,  the  sweet  con 
solations  of  religious  faith. 

"  That  my  existence  has  hitherto  been  prolonged,"  says  she, 
"  often  beyond  what  I  have  thought  to  have  been  its  destined 
period,  is  astonishing  to  myself.  Often  when  my  situation  has 
been  as  desperate,  as  hopeless,  or  more  so,  if  possible,  than  it  is 
at  present,  some  unexpected  interposition  of  Providence  has  res 
cued  me  from  a  fate  that  has  appeared  inevitable.  I  do  not 
particularly  allude  to  recent  circumstances  or  latter  years,  for 
from  my  earlier  years  I  have  been  the  child  of  Providence — then 
why  should  I  distrust  its  care  now?  I  do  not  distrust  it — 
neither  do  I  trust  it.  I  feel  perfectly  unanxious,  unconcerned, 
and  indifferent  as  to  the  future  ;  but  this  is  not  trust  in  Provi 
dence — not  that  trust  which  alone  claims  its  protection.  I  know 
this  is  a  blamable  indifference — it  is  more — for  it  reaches  to  the 
interminable  future.  It  turns  almost  with  disgust  from  the 
bright  prospects  which  religion  offers  for  the  consolation  and  sup 
port  of  the  wretched,  and  to  which  I  was  early  taught,  by  an 
almost  adored  mother,  to  look  forward  with  hope  and  joy  ;  but  to 
me  they  can  afford  no  consolation.  Not  that  I  doubt  the 
sacred  truths  that  religion  inculcates.  I  cannot  doubt — though 
I  confess  I  have  sometimes  tried  to  do  so,  because  I  no  longer 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  373 


wish  for  that  immortality  of  which  it  assures  us.  My  only  wish 
now  is  for  rest  and  peace — endless  rest.  'For  rest — but  not  to 
feel  'tis  rest,'  but  I  cannot  delude  myself  with  the  hope  that  such 
rest  will  be  my  lot.  I  feel  an  internal  evidence,  stronger  than 
any  arguments  that  reason  or  religion  can  enforce,  that  I  have 
that  within  me  which  is  imperishable  ;  that  drew  not  its  origin 
from  the  '  clod  of  the  valley.'  With  this  conviction,  but  without 
a  hope  to  brighten  the  prospect  of  that  dread  future  : 

*  I  dare  not  look  beyond  the  tomb, 
Yet  cannot  hope  for  peace  before.' 

"  Such  an  unhappy  frame  of  mind,  I  am  sure,  madam,  must 
excite  your  commiseration.  It  is  perhaps  owing,  in  part  at  least, 
to  the  solitude  in  which  I  have  lived,  I  may  say,  even  in  the 
midst  of  society  ;  when  I  have  mixed  in  it ;  as  my  infirmities 
entirely  exclude  me  from  that  sweet  intercourse  of  kindred  spirits 

that  sweet  solace  of  refined  conversation  ;  the  little  intercourse 

I  have  at  any  time  with  those  around  me  cannot  be  termed  con 
versation — they  are  not  kindred  spirits — and  even  where  circum 
stances  have  associated  me  (but  rarely  indeed)  with  superior  and 
cultivated  minds,  who  have  not  disdained  to  admit  me  to  their 
society,  they  could  not  by  all  their  generous  efforts,  even  in  early 
youth,  lure  from  my  dark  soul  the  thoughts  that  loved  to  lie 
buried  there,  nor  inspire  me  with  the  courage  to  attempt  their 
disclosure  ;  and  yet  of  all  the  pleasures  of  polished  life  which 
fancy  has  often  pictured  to  me  in  such  vivid  colors,  there  is  not 
one  that  I  have  so  ardently  coveted  as  that  sweet  reciprocation 
of  ideas,  the  supreme  bliss  of  enlightened  minds  in  the  hour  of 
social  converse.  But  this  I  knew  was  not  decreed  for  me — 


374  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


'  Yet  this  was  in  my  nature — ' 

but  since  the  loss  of  my  hearing,  I  have  always  been  incapable  of 
verbal  conversation.  I  need  not,  however,  inform  you,  madam, 
of  this.  At  the  first  interview  with  which  you  favored  me,  you 
quickly  discovered  my  peculiar  unhappiness  in  this  respect :  you 
perceived,  from  my  manner,  that  any  attempt  to  draw  me  into 
conversation  would  be  in  vain — had  it  been  otherwise,  perhaps 
you  would  not  have  disdained  now  and  then  to  have  soothed  the 
lonely  wanderer  with  yours.  I  have  sometimes  fancied,  when  I 
have  seen  you  in  the  walk,  that  you  seemed  to  wish  to  encourage 
me  to  throw  myself  in  your  way.  Pardon  me  if  my  imagination, 
too  apt  to  beguile  me  with  such  dear  illusions,  has  deceived  me 
into  too  presumptuous  an  idea  here.  You  must  have  observed 
that  I  generally  endeavored  to  avoid  both  you  and  Colonel  Wild- 
man.  It  was  to  spare  your  generous  hearts  the  pain  of  witness 
ing  distress  you  could  not  alleviate.  Thus  cut  off,  as  it  were, 
from  all  human  society,  I  have  been  compelled  to  live  in  a  world 
of  my  own,  and  certainly  with  the  beings  with  which  my  world  is 
peopled,  I  am  at  no  loss  to  converse.  But,  though  I  love  soli 
tude  and  am  never  in  want  of  subjects  to  amuse  my  fancy,  yet 
solitude  too  much  indulged  in  must  necessarily  have  an  unhappy 
effect  upon  the  mind,  which,  when  left  to  seek  for  resources 
wholly  within  itself,  will  unavoidably,  in  hours  of  gloom  and 
despondency,  brood  over  corroding  thoughts  that  prey  upon  the 
spirits,  and  sometimes  terminate  in  confirmed  misanthropy — 
especially  with  those  who,  from  constitution,  or  early  misfor 
tunes,  are  inclined  to  melancholy,  and  to  view  human  nature  in 
its  dark  shades.  And  have  I  not  cause  for  gloomy  reflections  ? 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  375 


The  utter  loneliness  of  my  lot  would  alone  have  rendered  exist 
ence  a  curse  to  one  whose  heart  nature  has  formed  glowing  with 
all  the  warmth  of  social  affection,  yet  without  an  object  on  which 
to  place  it — without  one  natural  connection,  one  earthly  friend 
to  appeal  to,  to  shield  me  from  the  contempt,  indignities,  and 
insults,  to  which  my  deserted  situation  continually  exposed  me." 

I  am  giving  long  extracts  from  this  letter,  yet  I  cannot 
refrain  from  subjoining  another  letter,  which  depicts  her  feelings 
with  respect  to  Newstead. 

"  Permit  me,  madam,  again  to  request  your  and  Colonel 
Wildman's  acceptance  of  those  acknowledgments  which  I  cannot 
too  often  repeat,  for  your  unexampled  goodness  to  a  rude  stran 
ger.  I  know  I  ought  not  to  have  taken  advantage  of  your 
extreme  good-nature  so  frequently  as  I  have.  I  should  have 
absented  myself  from  your  garden  during  the  stay  of  the  company 
at  the  Abbey,  but,  as  I  knew  I  must  be  gone  long  before  they 
would  leave  it,  I  could  not  deny  myself  the  indulgence,  as  you 
so  freely  gave  me  your  permission  to  continue  my  walks ;  but 
now  they  are  at  an  end.  I  have  taken  my  last  farewell  of  every 
dear  and  interesting  spot,  which  I  now  never  hope  to  see  again, 
unless  my  disembodied  spirit  may  be  permitted  to  revisit  them. — 
Yet  0  !  if  Providence  should  enable  me  again  to  support  myself 
with  any  degree  of  respectability,  and  you  should  grant  me  some 
little  humble  shed,  with  what  joy  shall  I  return  and  renew  my 
delightful  rambles.  But  dear  as  Newstead  is  to  me,  I  will  never 
again  come  under  the  same  unhappy  circumstances  as  I  have  this 
last  time — never  without  the  means  of  at  least  securing  myself 
from  contempt.  How  dear,  how  very  dear  Newstead  is  to  me,  how 
unconquerable  the  infatuation  that  possesses  me,  I  am  now  going 


376  CRAYON    MISCELLANY. 


to  give  a  too  convincing  proof.  In  offering  to  your  acceptance  the 
worthless  trifles  that  will  accompany  this,  I  hope  you  will  believe 
that  I  have  no  view  to  your  amusement.  I  dare  not  hope  that 
the  consideration  of  their  being  the  products  of  your  own  garden 
and  most  of  them  written  there,  in  my  little  tablet,  while  sitting 
at  the  foot  of  my  Altar — I  could  not,  I  cannot  resist  the  earnest 
desire  of  leaving  this  memorial  of  the  many  happy  hours  I  have 
there  enjoyed.  Oh  !  do  not  reject  them,  madam ;  suffer  them  to 
remain  with  you,  and  if  you  should  deign  to  honor  them  with 
a  perusal,  when  you  read  them  repress,  if  you  can,  the  smile 
that  I  know  will  too  naturally  arise,  when  you  recollect  the 
appearance  of  the  wretched  being  who  has  dared  to  devote  her 
whole  soul  to  the  contemplation  of  such  more  than  human  excel 
lence.  Yet  ridiculous  as  such  devotion  may  appear  to  some,  I 
must  take  leave  to  say,  that  if  the  sentiments  which  I  have  enter 
tained  for  that  exalted  being  could  be  duly  appreciated,  I  trust 
they  would  be  found  to  be  of  such  a  nature  as  is  no  dishonor 
even  for  him  to  have  inspired."  *  * 

"  I  am  now  coming  to  take  a  last,  last  view  of  scenes  too 
deeply  impressed  upon  my  memory  ever  to  be  effaced  even  by 
madness  itself.  0  madam  !  may  you  never  know,  nor  be  able  to 
conceive  the  agony  I  endure  in  tearing  myself  from  all  that  the 
world  contains  of  dear  and  sacred  to  me :  the  only  spot  on  earth 
where  I  can  ever  hope  for  peace  or  comfort. — May  every  blessing 
the  world  has  to  bestow  attend  you,  or  rather,  may  you  long,  long 
live  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  delights  of  your  own  paradise,  in 
secret  seclusion  from  a  world  that  has  no  real  blessings  to  bestow. 
Now  I  go — but  0  might  I  dare  to  hope  that  when  you  are  enjoy 
ing  these  blissful  scenes,  a  thought  of  the  unhappy  wanderer 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY.  377 


might  sometimes  cross  your  mind,  how  soothing  would  such  an 
idea  be,  if  I  dared  to  indulge  it — could  you  see  my  heart  at  this 
moment,  how  needless  would  it  be  to  assure  you  of  the  respectful 
gratitude,  the  affectionate  esteem,  this  heart  must  ever  bear  you 
both." 

The  effect  of  this  letter  upon  the  sensitive  heart  of  Mrs. 
Wildman  may  be  more  readily  conceived  than  expressed.  Her 
first  impulse  was  to  give  a  home  to  this  poor  homeless  being, 
and  to  fix  her  in  the  midst  of  those  scenes  which  formed  her 
earthly  paradise.  She  communicated  her  wishes  to  Colonel  Wild 
man,  and  they  met  with  an  immediate  response  in  his  generous 
bosom.  It  was  settled  on  the  spot,  that  an  apartment  should  be 
fitted  up  for  the  Little  White  Lady  in  one  of  the  new  farm 
houses,  and  every  arrangement  made  for  her  comfortable  and  per 
manent  maintenance  on  the  estate.  With  a  woman's  prompt  be 
nevolence,  Mrs.  Wildman,  before  she  laid  her  head  upon  her  pil 
low,  wrote  the  following  letter  to  the  destitute  stranger : 

"  Newstead  Abbey, 

Tuesday  night,  Sept.  20th,  1825. 

"  On  retiring  to  my  bedchamber  this  evening  I  have  opened 
your  letter,  and  cannot  lose  a  moment  in  expressing  to  you  the 
strong  interest  which  it  has  excited  both  in  Colonel  Wildman  and 
myself,  from  the  details  of  your  peculiar  situation,  and  the  deli 
cate,  and,  let  me  add,  elegant  language  in  which  they  are  conveyed. 
I  am  anxious  that  my  note  should  reach  you  previous  to  your 
departure  from  this  neighborhood,  and  should  be  truly  happy  if, 
by  any  arrangement  for  your  accommodation,  I  could  prevent  the 
necessity  of  your  undertaking  the  journey.  Colonel  Wildman 


378  CRAYON  MISCELLANY. 


begs  me  to  assure  you  that  he  will  use  his  best  exertion  in  the 
investigation  of  those  matters  which  you  have  confided  to  him, 
and  should  you  remain  here  at  present,  or  return  again  after  a 
short  absence,  I  trust  we  shall  find  means  to  become  better  ac 
quainted,  and  to  convince  you  of  the  interest  I  feel,  and  the  real 
satisfaction  it  would  afford  me  to  contribute  in  any  way  to  your 
comfort  and  happiness.  I  will  only  now  add  my  thanks  for  the 
little  p'acket  which  I  received  with  your  letter,  and  I  must  con 
fess  that  the  letter  has  so  entirely  engaged  my  attention,  that  I 
have  not  as  yet  had  time  for  the  attentive  perusal  of  its  com 
panion. 

Believe  me,  dear  madam, 

with  sincere  good  wishes, 
Yours  truly, 

LOUISA  WILDMAN." 

Early  the  next  morning  a  servant  was  dispatched  with  the 
letter  to  the  Weir  Mill  farm,  but  returned  with  the  information 
that  the  Little  White  Lady  had  set  off,  before  his  arrival,  in 
company  with  the  farmer's  wife,  in  a  cart  for  Nottingham,  to  take 
her  place  in  the  coach  for  London.  Mrs.  Wildman  ordered  him 
to  mount  horse  instantly,  follow  with  all  speed,  and  deliver  the 
letter  into  her  hand  before  the  departure  of  the  coach. 

The  bearer  "of  good  tidings  spared  neither  whip  nor  spur,  and 
arrived  at  Nottingham  on  a  gallop.  On  entering  the  town  a 
crowd  obstructed  him  in  the  principal  street.  He  checked  his 
horse  to  make  his  way  through  it  quietly.  As  the  crowd  opened 
to  the  right  and  left,  he  beheld  a  human  body  lying  on  the  pave 
ment. — It  was  the  corpse  of  the  Little  White  Lady  ! 


NEWSTEAD   ABBEY.  379 


It  seems  that  on  arriving  in  town  and  dismounting  from  the 
cart,  the  farmer's  wife  had  parted  with  her  to  go  on  an  errand, 
and  the  White  Lady  continued  on  toward  the  coach-office.  In 
crossing  a  street  a  cart  came  along  driven  at  a  rapid  rate.  The 
driver  called  out  to  her,  but  she  was  too  deaf  to  hear  his  voice  or 
the  rattling  of  his  cart.  In  an  instant  she  was  knocked  down  by 
the  horse,  the  wheels  passed  over  her  body,  and  she  died  without 
a  groan. 


THE    END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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J 

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AY  1  1  1966  1 


,  ;Ut  -66  ?3 RGB 

| 

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LD  21-100m-ll,'49(B7146sl6)476 


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